


steal my attention

by subchesters



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Bilingual Keith (Voltron), Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Internalized Homophobia, Keith & Pidge | Katie Holt Friendship, Light Angst, M/M, Mentions of Other Voltron Paladins, POV Alternating, Pining Keith (Voltron), Pining Shiro (Voltron), Racism, Stereotypes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2020-03-06 14:08:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 32,382
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18852628
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/subchesters/pseuds/subchesters
Summary: There is one thing that Shiro dreads as a foreign exchange student: having absolutely no knowledge of being able to understand English. He knows that without it, he can never hope to be self-reliant, stuck in a land that he can't understand and unable to get around. Instead, Shiro sends out a call for help on a flyer:teach me English and I will teach you Japanese.That call is answered by Keith, who is also looking for help.





	1. 1.

**Author's Note:**

> Title from [Steal My Attention"](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1nwbuMqH2bQ) by TOKiMONSTA
> 
> This was written for the Sheith Prompt Bang, which this is one of two prompts I took. I will admit, I never foresaw that my schedule wanted to fuck itself up since the beginning of the event. Having literal months of time taken away from me for work, fourteen hour days at times, my laptop going down on me, as well as in between moving apartments and travelling, and just general tiredness and burnout. 
> 
> When I saw this prompt, I thought it was really cute and I wanted to go for it and it gave me the opportunity to expand on it and see it through. It allowed me to implement lot of hcs I have (Keith being interracial isn't a hc, but it allowed me to expand on it) and just generally dive deep into them and just rework things and see how they go. It also gave the me the ability to relive my enjoyment from going to Japan and everything that I got to experience. I love you, CC Lemon and Coco's Curry and the random cats in Nimitz Park, you will surely be missed.
> 
> I just wanna say that [this sign](https://pbs.twimg.com/media/D6vuecPWkAsIJZ0.jpg) that was put up in Nimitz Park didn't stop me and it never will stop me. There are kitties that needed caring and I was there to do that.
> 
> Also, you may be looking at all those tags and being very hmmmm about it, but rest assure, there's just hints and some splashes, like it's not actually saturating the fic. They're just there to tell you no matter how little. There is also the use of two slurs in a flashback but they're never mentioned again.
> 
> Alrighty, so here's some background: I lived in Japan for about three years, from June 2015 - May 2018, so my knowledge and experience is pretty recent. A lot of the things in here are taken from my own experience, from everyday Japanese life to the work force, as well as doing a little further research in order to expand upon experiences. I am also mixed race and there are a few references and discussions about it, some of which can make person feel a little uncomfortable at how stark they can be discussed, as well as addressing existing and previous negative thoughts. It's not in depth and a common theme, but there are some mentions of it in this fic. A lot of it is taken from my own experience with those kinds of perceptions, much thanks to some of my mom's side of the family for it. 
> 
> (I love you, mom, but lbr, some of your family sucks.)
> 
> However, I do encourage people to point out if I may have gotten something wrong as I know that there is no universal experience and that everyone and their own experiences are different.
> 
> I'd like to give a shout out to [LunaTaylors](https://twitter.com/LunaTaylors) for being my artist and creating some bangin' art for this, I appreciate your willingness to work with me and the odd choices my schedule and work decided to take. I'd also like to thank my beta (IDK your handle other than your email) for cleaning up a lot of this, and I know you didn't get enough time to do so, but I still thank you. 
> 
> All mistakes are mine and I will surely be correcting them as time goes on.
> 
> Note 1: when Shiro comes to America, all italicized speech is spoken in Japanese, and regular text is spoken in English.
> 
> Note 2: for the documentary that is mentioned briefly here, it's called _Gaycation with Ellen Paige_ and it's episode 1 which is about Japan. I watched that back in 2016 when I was chillin' in Sasebo, and it was an intriguing episode.
> 
> Note 3: the commercial that Pidge references [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eEPh_KlTyII)

Shiro squints at the screen.

_Write the correct phrase in English._

It’s not so bad, Shiro thinks as he doesn’t fully register the words on the screen, staring at the dimmed screen of his laptop.

_“The boys have the pears.”_

Okay, it’s bad.

So, Shiro is currently having a crisis. It’s not a moral crisis, he doesn’t have to choose between helping his friend avoid a life sentence for accidentally hitting a senior citizen or reporting them to the police like he knows he should. It’s neither of these things, there’s no obstacle in front of him that is desperately calling against his morals and asking to do the right thing as he ruins the friendship between them.

There’s none of that.

Instead, it’s in the form of an innocuous, green owl that perches on the edge of his screen, with large eyes that stare back him, beckoning him to it with a promise of knowledge to be gained from the infinite wisdom it must posses.

And as it stands, for Shiro and the end result of learning how to understand a completely different language to get around in the United States, this doesn’t seem too bad.

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

It begins with his usual routine: Shiro looks over the volunteer dates every Monday when he gets to his university, posted on the bulletin board swamped by other flyers and promotions that all fight for his attention; he skims through the university’s happenings, trying to see which one will give him the best-looking resume. It’s the experience he needs, desperately hoping that it’s going to be enough.

See, Shiro is trying to gain the job experience of leadership and management that many jobs demand. It’s unspoken, but there are two things they wish for that Shiro has discovered: they wish to get someone that has several years of experience behind them that includes various jobs and positions held. However, these jobs want someone who’s young and post-college, and ready to step out into the world. It’s an odd combination, Shiro thinks, and the two seem work against each other. How can they hope to find someone who has had twenty years of experience but are only in their early twenties?

Shiro has spent a few years trying to get ahead of the curve that is the arduous working environment of his country. Whether it’s from a small part time gig at a library as a checkout clerk, to being a veterinarian’s assistance over a summer, which was a little more demanding of his emotional will. He even volunteered during Golden Week and braving the train stations for it, as much as Shiro didn’t want that but he needs that experience, but Shiro’s been doing all of it to secure his future.

This is where his experience starts to derail.

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

_Foreign Exchange Student Program: Sign up and represent our country abroad!_

Shiro’s eyes catch on those words, registering them with a brief, muted kind of interest but with no real desire to pursue them. He’s seen advertisements for the foreign exchange student program from time to time behind dozens of flyers and photoshop jobs that were too enthusiastic in their purpose, but he’s never had any real desire or want to travel outside of Japan. It’s not that Shiro doesn’t want to but he does think it would be cool to visit other countries and cultures, especially ones that are on the other side of the world, but Shiro doesn’t entertain any thoughts that he would be chosen for it.

Shiro has a few friends, however.

One night at a bar with nothing on their heels that needs their attention and the road in front of them is clear and nothing coming at them, nursing their craft beers, that someone get it in their head to drop their name into the hat to gamble for their chances of being put into the foreign exchange program. It’s with alcohol that makes any idea seem like a grand time even if it was never given much thought. Neutrality toward a subject doesn’t matter anymore because alcohol can make a person into a “yes” man.

“Shiro,” is somewhat of a slurred sound from a tongue trying too hard to wrap around such simple sounds, “you should—you should sign up for the foreign exchange program.”

At any other time, Shiro would politely decline and he’d explain that he has no real chance of being chosen. Shiro knows he’s an exceptional student with the grades and dedication to prove it, but to entertain the idea of something like that happening when it has a slim chance of occurring? It sounds like an interesting thing to do, but there must be so many people vying for that position that Shiro could be overlooked for it. It makes Shiro think of how many students have priority over him.

Shiro squints, trying to see beyond the haze that’s become a light film over his eyes as he tries to use his tongue to structure the vague sounds and unformed words that settle all around his mouth. His mind attempts to sift through the half-formed thoughts, trying to be elegant even though that’s a slim chance.

“I don’t think there’s any real—” and Shiro has to stop as he takes another drink, a shudder dragging its nails down his back as he blocks out the taste of the alcohol—ah, personally-mixed Chūhais at one of his favorite stands—before he tries again with, “—chance of me getting in, you know that, guys.”

“Oh, come on, you always say that,” one of his friends says somewhat in a whine, and an arm finds its way around Shiro’s shoulders, catching him off kilter and using that moment unintentionally to pull him toward the owner, Shiro’s face press against a shoulder at an awkward angle, a dull pain blooming from his nose as its pressed down.

“Think of it, Shiro,” and this is the start of another conversation that has become routine, but with the fuel of alcohol behind it, “imagine going out there, to France, to America, to _California_ , and actually seeing the _world_ , not just on a tv from your pitiful apartment,” and they take a drink, Shiro also trying to get to his drink even at the odd angle he’s faced with, not paying any real attention to the drink that somewhat spill over onto his lap.

Shiro squints, slanting them a look. “You live two floors below me.”

“That’s not the point.”

“Imagine travelling around like that, out there, in the world, without having to worry about… about,” and they struggle somewhat, “about… fuck,” and Shiro laughs with them as another one of his friends laughs as well, setting off a chain reaction of laughs between all of them, “oh! About professor Takahashi’s droning.”

Shiro grins, letting himself pull away from the other as they fall forward, elbows colliding with the sleek, mahogany-colored countertop, ready to slap down another seven hundred yen for another drink. He leans back, teetering before he pushes forward, “I think that would be really cool,” and there’s a wistful quality to his voice, a desire that’s etched there that isn’t covered up thanks to the alcohol stripping away the barriers. “To see America, to see what they do. It’d be like the movies, wouldn’t it?”

“You should definitely sign up for it!”

Shiro glances to the side, momentarily pausing the glass at his lips before pulling it away, craning his head to look at the person who said that. In his mind’s eye that has become influenced by the haze of alcohol making the inside of his skull its home, he doesn’t quite consider any kind of reason that would be all for denying this. He doesn’t think about how he might not be equipped to deal with the sudden change of culture and way of life.

Alcohol make everything more alluring than before.

“I don’t know,” and the slide of his drink against his throat gives him another pleasant burn, “I’d love to, you know? But I think there are more… more…” and Shiro squints, jaw working as he tries to remember something that’s supposed to be important, but he shakes himself off. “Oh, yes! A better choice than me.”

His friends make a ruckus, a symphony of denials and rebuttals against hi choice of words. “Nonsense! You would totally qualify!”

“I don’t know where I’d even begin to do that.”

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

It turns out, Shiro’s friends definitely knew where to start.

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

It’s on a Thursday afternoon spent inside Shiro’s dorm when Shiro gets an email from a professor that he doesn’t know; it’s a professor he’s not taking any classes from, hasn’t met them in passing, hasn’t even encountered them, but he clicks on the message as he’s slowly nibbling on another bowl of Nissan UFO ramen and he nearly drops his chopsticks when he reads what it is.

_Dear Shirogane Takashi,_

_Congratulations on being selected for the Foreign Exchange Student Program! Your application for the Foreign Exchange Student Program was thoroughly reviewed and it was decided by the council that you would be a perfect fit to represent our country overseas. Attached are some documents that you will need to fill out and complete and to be returned to the Student Affairs Center, in room 102B, as soon as possible. Attached are some PDF files that will tell you the health requirements and checks—_

Shiro stops reading, his body slackening with a surprise that he can’t quite describe.

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

Shiro immediately texts his friends, asking which one of them put in an application for him to be in the program. They all give him the runaround but thought Shiro deserved to have some kind of chance since he was, “too chicken to take risks.” He’s not sure if he appreciates their desire for him to have fun or take offense to being called conservative because he likes to play it safe.

Shiro comes back to his laptop, opening the message again, rereading over it to make sure it wasn’t a hoax, looking at the date, at the verified teacher signature, and he just can’t process this.

Instead, he looks over the PDF that tells him the university that is partnered with his own university to see where he’s going. He gets ideas of all the large, industrial and towering cities that he could be going to. He thinks of New York, he thinks of San Diego; he thinks of all these big-name American cities that he’s seen countless times in movies and referenced in the news and wonders what kind of things he’s going to see.

Instead, it isn’t New York or San Diego or any other city he’s heard of.

Arizona.

Is that a city? Shiro’s never heard of Arizona.

Specifically, it’s in Phoenix, Arizona.

Shiro has no idea where that is and has to look it up himself.

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

There is an odd cocktail of feelings that roil around within Shiro’s stomach.

It’s not that Shiro is ungrateful for the opportunity that he’s been presented, but he suspected grander, a more dazzling area that he would be going to. He wanted to experience New York, go to Manhattan, see the Empire State building, or go San Diego or Los Angeles, but not… Arizona.

Specifically, an area of desert.

He’s never been to the desert, but he’s seen enough movies to know it doesn’t look like much. There’s just sand and dry dirt and cactus and tumbleweed blowing by and that it’s so very hot in the day, none of which sounds very interesting. In fact, all Shiro can see is a sunburn in his future. He’s not too big on carrying an umbrella with him for shade, something that people have commented on and that he sounds more like he’d be fit to live in Okinawa for that, but that might be something within his future he has to look forward to and prepare for.

Shiro leans back in his chair as he lets his hand fall away from his laptop, arms hanging at his side as he gazes at the open tab of images of deserts in Google images, but brings one arm up to grasp at his chin. He contemplates this, wondering what’s going to be so interesting about being a hot, sandy place with the sun burning your skin and nothing but vast wastelands of cracked dirt and hills of nothing but yellow.

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

It’s not until Shiro is walking in front of a Lawsons, buying himself a café latte from a vending machine and munching on a bean paste-filled pastry, does it truly hit him that he’s going to be _leaving_ Japan, he’s going to be leaving Nagoya, and not just for family that lives in Saga or Chiba—no, he’s going to be _outside of his country_.

He nearly drops his drink and almost chokes. Like he really needs to have ambulance called in the middle of Nagoya Station.

It also dawns on him that he’s going to be outside of his country and _without_ people who can speak Japanese.

And now is the time to think about the fact that Shiro barely knows any English.

Back in high school, there were English courses that he took out of necessity for college course programs but he stopped once reaching college, not seeing any real use for it since he didn’t plan to go to the United States, or any country that would need him to speak English. Sure, there are American military bases in Japan, the closest major one being in Yokosuka, but he never thought he’d be in a situation where he would have to talk the American soldiers since most of them are too obsessed with seeing Tokyo to really care about going anywhere else. Shiro doesn’t live in an area that is frequented by American military, so he never really thought that he’d interact with them enough to have a pressing need to learn English.

Now would be a good time to scramble for those now needed English lessons.

Shiro spends the entire day within a daze again, having just come out of the one he was in when he first read the email days ago, but all of the more difficult things he’ll have to do are now just dawning on him in a way that makes Shiro feel wholly unprepared for this. It makes him think about all his shortcomings and these hypothetical situations that all end horribly because he is unable to figure out how to solve.

The email told him that the university of Nagoya has a partnership with the college he’s going to be attending, this University of Altea, and how they have people volunteer to host foreign exchange students, who are screened and interviewed to go through a qualification process and ensured that they can host people or families. Shiro had also read that a personal translator will be accompanying him throughout the experience to help him understand things he doesn’t know how to say or read which is certainly a huge relief. It’s nice knowing that he won’t get some person who would try to teach him some unsavory words in English that he doesn’t know the meaning or context for.

He has visions of someone trying to teach him to say _cock_ in English and that person getting a very large amount of amusement from it.

Shiro appreciates that he won’t be truly lost but he can understand how that will be limiting to his freedom and ability to express his own independence, as well as his dislike of having to rely on people and unable to maintain his own sense of autonomy. He can appreciate not being completely lost, he really can, but he’s still not looking forward to having to rely on another person, as well as having to subject them to his schedule and having it possibly interfere with their own desire to do things.

Another email comes to him as he’s contemplating what he should be doing about his lack of knowledge when it comes to speaking English.

_Dear Shirogane Takashi,_

_There will be a host family you will be staying with. A student by the name of Holt Matt and his family have been screened and approved to be your host family. Attached is a picture of Holt, his family, his home, as well as an essay introduction about him and his family. Please respond as soon as possible if this family is who you would like to be hosted by. If this is a family you do not approve of, please let us know._

There’s a few attachments and he opens the file with eagerness to see who is going to host him.

In it contains a picture of a male with lengthy auburn hair, tied back in a ponytail with a peach-colored complexion that’s a little offset by a faded scar on the right side of his face. He’s got a grin on his face, making some kind of pose, but his stance is generally inviting and friendly so that Shiro takes a breath of relief. He reads that Holt is enthusiastic about robotics and AI systems. He reads Holt is on a scholarship that gives him a full ride, that his parents also teach at the university but are in different fields than what Holt is in. He reads that Holt has a sister that’s in her junior year of high school, is at the top of her class, and president of the robotics club and any other after school activity that has even a fair interest in anything to do with mechanical engineering. He reads that Holt doesn’t live very far from the university so it’s not a considerable distance he would have to travel to get to his destination. Shiro wonders how well the trains operate in Arizona.

The Holt’s [ style of house ](http://amazingarchitecture.net/2015/10/14/luxury-traditional-style-house-in-vancouver/) isn’t a style that Shiro is familiar with and vaguely remembers the style from American movies he’s watched, but it does speak of a well-off family, and Shiro doesn’t think he has to worry about very much. There are a few pictures of the inside that speaks of polished wooden floors, well-maintained areas of carpet, pristine cream-colored walls, and with a lot of room, more than what Shiro is used to with his own apartment and that becomes something that Shiro is looking forward to.

Shiro had been surprised by the amount of space he had seen in the photos that made him glance around his own apartment in a sense of insecurity. It’s a house versus an apartment, of course a house is going to bigger than the apartment but it still doesn’t stop Shiro from feeling some insecurity. He’s a little on the tall side, sure, a little more than the average but he’s made it work. Unfortunately, after looking up the average height for males in the United States, he’s still much taller than the average height. It’s good to know that Holt’s house isn’t small and won’t force Shiro to bend and hunch over to accommodate his height.

Holt talks about great places to eat food, where to go shopping, the museum and places people like to hang out, and Shiro has to spend time trying to pronounce a few of those places but it’s not bad. Overall, Holt doesn’t sound bad and this assures Shiro but the email does ask that he reach out if he has any more questions.

This still doesn’t take away the fact that Shiro knows so little English and can’t remember much from his high school days, so this calls for him to hunker down and figure it out.

Only Shiro doesn’t get that time.

He’s given exactly three months to figure everything out before he’s going to Phoenix.

It’s also a pain to learn that all the tutors Shiro reached out to are kind of busy and don’t have enough time to teach him anything.

_Sorry_ , Shiro reads a little sourly, _we’re a little_ —blah, blah, _blah_ , of _course_ no one is available in his time of need.

And in turn, Shiro asks his friends about where he can go to learn English because he is certainly not about the shell out fifty-four thousand yen for a _Rosetta Stone_ to teach him anything, he’s not that rich to just throw that kind of money around on a whim. He’s already looked through dozens of websites, some shady and some with more ads than he can get through that eats away at his laptop’s performance, even typing in “ _English for Dummies_ ” since those kinds of books are somewhat popular but each with differing results.

“I heard of Duolingo—”

Shiro’s never heard of that. It’s like one of those websites his friends like to claim exist but just leads him to a porn site because for some reason, they get a kick out of that. It’s only natural he’s wary of this.

“You’re trying to pull one over me, aren’t you?”

His friend raises his hands in a placating manner before, “I’m serious, it’s a site that many other people use for language. It was a few days ago that they added some new rare languages. You should check it out.”

Come to find out, it really is a language site and Shiro is grateful for the easy navigation and promise to ease him into it.

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

After some re-evaluation, Shiro is not grateful for this site.

It’s only two months into using Duolingo and one month until he has to pack up his things and begin heading for Arizona, and Shiro isn’t having the best of times with this site.

It started out small.

It asks him to identify what a boy is in English, it asks him to identify a girl, an apple, a pair of red pants, and it really isn’t that bad. It’s simple, it doesn’t ask for him to begin writing an essay in English about what his own major is supposed to be about. It’s a good way to ease into learning the language.

Then it gets odd as he moves on.

There certainly some questions that don’t feel like they’d be used.

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

“When will I ever use this?” is soft but inquisitive as Shiro leans forward to look at the question, eyes narrowing at the words displayed before him.

In front of him lies a series of choices, displayed on the screen of his laptop, that speaks of an greeting that Shiro isn’t sure that he would say to someone. There is a scenario that is asks, about this boy named Joshua, who wears a red shirt and white pants, and is introducing himself, and Shiro is supposed to respond back with one of the options that is listed below.

Instead of some normal response, like, “my name is Shirogane Takashi, how are you?” that Shiro would expect, he is instead told that the following options are what he will respond with:

Option A: _“Hello, my name is Joshua and I am a man of small.”_

Option B: _“Hello, I am a small man and my name is Joshua.”_

Option C: _“Hello, my name is Joshua, and I am a small man.”_

Option D: _“Hello, my name is Small, and I am a Joshua.”_

These options are weird, sure, but Shiro is still willing to give it a chance but then come phrases that Shiro doesn’t think are ever going to be used.

He’s been on Duolingo for a while, since the morning that is beginning to collapse under the building weight of night that is slowly pressing upon its back, and his eyes are starting to strain from how long Shiro has had to look at the screen. The text is starting to blur, fatigue from trying to cram as much knowledge about English is starting to settle into the cracks to a point where Shiro feels like he’s just staring at text and not comprehending what it’s trying to tell him.

Instead of phrases that he thinks would be used, he instead gets sentences about boys with pears.

“Translate this into English,” Shiro reads aloud, squinting at the options that he’s given.

Sure, this is definitely going to come in handy for Shiro’s first conversation in English with someone that he wouldn’t blame them for not wanting to talk to him because he’s being really out there with what he wants to say.

He can see it, talking to some girl on the street and replying to whatever she’s saying with, “the boys have the pears,” and continuously saying that to her that increases panic because he doesn’t know how to say anything else until she gives up. The boys having pears will never be able to mend his broken relationship with everyone around him as he can’t tell them anything that isn’t related to boys having the pears.

It’s all about boys and pears.

When is this man, a healthy male at a freshly-minted twenty-three, going to talk about boys having pears? When is he going to introduce himself as a tall man in red pants? When is he going to try to ask someone about anything that he’s been given?

And yet, Shiro is still pretty shit at English and this is the best he has.

It’s nearing the date of his departure, its shadow looming, and Shiro stares down at his passport, a silent kind of mocking that tells him that he’s getting nowhere and running out of time to find a place to give him a respectable point. It doesn’t matter how many times he goes to the gym to take out his growing frustration and how much he wants to learn in order to get by, his independence now hinging on this Duolingo and the owl that sits in the corner of the screen that watches him and the little progress he makes that doesn’t amount to enough by his standards.

Shiro stops Duolingo about two weeks before his flight out and decides he’ll just tough it out.

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

It’s two in the morning on a Saturday when there’s a noise that tells of a notification that has been received that jars Shiro from his sleep, hand reaching out to feel for his phone that ever so rudely took him out of the wonderful oblivion that is sleep, rubbing at his eyes and squinting against the low light of his phone.

What he gets makes him groan.

It’s Duolingo, telling him he has been falling behind on his lessons and that it misses him.

It’s a moment of staring at his phone before Shiro decides to mute any notifications that come through on his phone about Duolingo.

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

It doesn’t stop there.

Shiro keeps getting emails and notifications about his neglected studies in Duolingo, how he hasn’t opened up the site or app in a long time when realistically, it’s only been a week, but the site apparently misses him dearly and would love for him to come back. It wants him back so badly; it wants him back to the point where he gets these sad images of the Duolingo owl in a kind of despondence that gradually becomes more depressing as time goes on.

What the fuck kind of site is this?

Shiro eventually deletes his account and hopes to not get any more of those weird emails with a kind guilt to make him come back.

What a weird site.

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

Shiro spends his last day in Japan nursing on a Van Houten cocoa, trying to process that he’s not going to be in his home county for the next three years, finishing up his studies in the United States, away from his family and friends, away from everything that is familiar to him in exchange for something foreign with a set of different expectations from a society that Shiro isn’t quite sure how he’ll approach.

In the last few months, Shiro has done a lot of research into the cultures that exist within the United States—the handfuls of Japanese areas that exist within California, which makes Shiro a little disappointed that he couldn’t go there but reminds himself that he’s supposed to experience something new, something grand that he isn’t supposed to cling to old ways because he’s in a different area. He finds out about the Italian areas that are all over New York, the Cajun cultures of New Orleans—there’s so many of them that Shiro doesn’t quite know what he’s supposed to be getting himself familiar with.

He does remember sitting down with the coordinator of the program, asking them about Arizona and the cultures that are out there because he has no idea what Arizona is supposed be like other than a desert. They had said something about Mexican cultures and Native American, but Shiro isn’t too familiar with any of that.

Instead, Shiro just takes another sip of his drink.

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

On the plane ride there, a grueling fifteen hours that Shiro is not wanting to deal with, he orders himself wine and ingests it fast because he’d rather not think about how unprepared he is for this. Drinking his wine fast leads him to being sleepy and thankfully, falls asleep during the rest of the flight.

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

“Did I tell you that Matt thought it’d be a good idea to be a host family for a foreign exchange student?”

Keith glances at Pidge from his homework as she’s leaning back in her chair, obviously not paying very much attention to her homework, trying to balance a pen on the bridge of her nose. It’s not like she needs to, she’s at the top of her class in every class, having a kind of natural ability to absorb information really well and utilize it in ways that would make someone think she’s an expert in that field. If she wanted to, Pidge could stop doing the homework in classes and only take the tests and be able to pass her classes that way. She’s not really looking at him, letting the pen fall and clatter on the ground before she becomes more interested in her phone and probably mindlessly scrolling through social media.

“Not really.”

Pidge looks up, adjusting her glasses before, “Matt’s really excited about it. Says he’s getting some guy from Japan, from—uh, I think it was from… Nagoya?”

That does interest Keith a little.

“Japan, huh?”

“Yeah.”

Keith’s eyes stare at the book in front him but aren’t really registering the words in front of him.

“Matt really wants to make a good impression on him, so he’s been trying to convince me to come up with some kind of translator that’s more accurate than Google Translate. I mean, he _thought_ he could, but it didn’t work out so well. I know we’re really great at machines and science and stuff, but as painful as it to admit, and you better not tell anyone this, it can’t always work out in the end.”

Keith props an elbow on the table, chin leaning against his hand before he angles his face to cradle his cheek in palm, eyebrows raising as he regards Pidge.

“Don’t look at me like that. Science is everything, it gives us so many answers. You can hate science all you want but you can’t disprove it.”

There’s the vague formation of a smirk at the edges of Keith’s mouth. “I didn’t say anything.”

Pidge gives him a look before she’s ready to move back to the previous topic. “Matt knows this is gonna help his resume look good, but I’m curious,” and Pidge leans forward to place to her elbows onto the table. “Maybe you could help Matt make an impression since you can understand Japanese.”

“I’m not fluent, though.”

“But aren’t you half-Japane—”

Keith’s eyebrows arch before she can finish that sentence, lips thinning somewhat as Pidge stops, taking in the change in demeanor and puts her hands up. “Okay, I’m sorry about that, but you have to admit that this is a good way to connect with your heritage, you know?”

That is a sore spot that Keith doesn’t like to look into that often and will try to avoid it if at all possible, only putting a bandage around it every so often and covering up the festering injury beneath it. It’s meant for a place where the light can’t reach.

“Look, I know it’s a sore spot, and I’m sorry for bringing that up. It was a bit of a dick move, but maybe this is the chance to find out about a culture you weren’t able to get to know growing up?”

Keith lifts his chin, letting his fingers drag across his cheek but doesn’t let his hand fall away, his fingers now resting against his cheek before he does straighten his posture, his arm now lying flat against the table as his gaze focuses somewhere else.

“Just think about it, Keith.”

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

It’s not that long into Shiro’s arrival at the airport that he does notice the difference almost straight away.

As he’s making his way through the airport, bypassing so many people, he begins to look for areas to get food from, his stomach protesting that he only consumed wine on the flight and not something solid. With his translator with him, he starts to ask about the restaurants that are on display.

They’re all full of people in these small spaces, almost crowded that he’s noticed resembles Japanese airports but in a less controlled chaos sort of way. He’s used to small places; he’s used to areas to eat having an organization to them that he can’t place why it’s missing from here. He’s used to booths and bars that are respectable distances from each other that only hold much less than what Shiro sees is teeming with in these areas.

Shiro is also looking for airport assistants, being used to them standing around and waiting for people to ask help and to guide them, but Shiro only sees police officers walking around, he sees the occasional… cart? Rolling vehicle? Whatever they are, he sees them slowly driving down the already crowded hallways, people parting for them before surging back together. He sees the pilots to planes walking through the areas, but he still sees no signs of anything else. It’s also odd to him that airliners don’t have their assistants standing outside of their airliners and ready to receive people or to guide them to different locations. He knows that many airlines do that, from Nippon to Peach, but he doesn’t see people standing outside of Delta Airlines or United, so this is certainly something different.

Perhaps people know where they are going and thus, don’t require help? Maybe it’s an independence thing, Shiro doesn’t know, but he’s really hungry.

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

Vending machines are certainly… with a constant variety.

Shiro tries to not compare, knowing each country has a different preference for what’s in their machines, but Shiro will say he misses the amount of tea varieties, but he recognizes the apple tea, familiar with the brand Lipton, and that does bring a small amount of familiarity that Shiro finds comfort in.

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

Pidge accompanies Matt to the airport, interested in the person that her brother is going to be hosting. She doesn’t have any expectations to who Matt will be offering their home to, but Pidge feels like she should have a part in seeing who that is. It’s her home, too, she should have the right to judge who will be living with her.

He’s a complete stranger and Pidge isn’t afraid to let this man know the ground rules.

They’re all congregated into a pickup area, where other people are waiting to meet others. Matt went all out and designed a sign, saying, “ _Welcome to America, Shirogane Takashi!”_  in Japanese, with the help of a few of his engineering buddies to create a sign that is clearly meant to dazzle and aw people, aiming to make a good impression on the person he’s hosting. He tried to convince Pidge to help him out and sure, she humored him a little but didn’t do very much. Moral support, she reasons, is always wanted.

“Matt, I don’t think he cares about the sign, just as long as he can find us.”

“I know what I’m doing, Katie.”

They stand there for a few minutes before her older brother says, “I got a text from his translator. He’ll be coming out in a few moments.”

Pidge lets her gaze remain on the amount of people flowing through, lets herself think about the type of image she’s going to be greeted with. Does this Takashi like science? Is he interested in the mechanical field? Does he believe in actually double modulating his things? If so, oh boy, does she have something to tell Hunk about. She’s gleeful with all the possibilities, and how she’s definitely going to rub it in Hunk’s face.

Pidge is thinking of so many things she begins to lose sight of what she was looking for in the first place. Pidge becomes so focused that she doesn’t see what Matt is doing when his movement out of the corner of her eye shifts.

“Hello, you are Matt Holt?”

Pidge’s attention is refocused and oriented to see a woman has approached them and with her stands this tall man—Pidge has to really look up at him, surprised by the sheer amount of height and stature this man possesses. There are muscles that push against his clothes, giving them a look that borders on possibly being a little smaller than what they should be.

His clothes are casual, his posture is loose, and Pidge is drawn to the bleached bangs that hang over the man’s face, possessing an undercut that Pidge doesn’t understand how it’s a look that works in the man’s favor.

“I—yeah, I’m Matt. Matt Holt, pleased to meet you.” Matt reaches out to shake the woman’s hand, trying to be polite but very obviously trying to pay attention to her and not to hulking mass of muscle that’s standing next to her.

“My name is Akiko. Akiko Tanizaki, and I am Takashi Shirogane’s translator. Please forgive him as he isn’t very well versed in the English language.”

Wait, what?

The man beside her, the actual Takashi Shirogane, shifts, knowing that his name was said, looking over at the woman curiously before she turns and says something to her in rapid-fire Japanese that Pidge can't hope to understand before his features alight in an understanding. Takashi looks from her and to Matt, stepping forward—god, he is so tall, dwarfing both her and Matt, and really, anyone and everyone around them. He extends out a hand and he gains this friendly look on his face, showing a hint of teeth and posture straightening—there’s no way this man can get taller, Pidge refuses to believe this.

The taller man’s mouth works as though he’s trying to taste the words he wants to say, struggling to figure out what he should say or how he should say. It takes a moment, but he opens his mouth and out comes a heavily accented, “I am Shirogane Takashi,” and okay, Pidge wasn’t expecting his voice to be that deep. Why is everything that Shiro is doing surprising? He’s not even doing very much to warrant it.

Matt must be, too, because he kind of flounders at the sound of it.

Matt does grip Takashi’s hand and wow; her brother’s hand is dwarfed by the sheer size difference.

As much as Pidge hates playing into stereotypes and the negative connotations that they bring, Pidge had fallen into the expectation that they were going to get some small, petite-looking person with a slight frame, someone that was close to Matt’s height, maybe even Pidge’s height could have been what they stood at. She expected someone with a soft, delicate frame, not an athletic man with a possible career in bodybuilding that stands well above their heads.

Pidge is kicking herself to letting herself play into stereotypes.

Hollywood must be proud.

Matt must still be grappling with who he is hosting as he stumbles over his own introduction. “Ah, I’m—I’m Matt Holt, it’s nice t-to meet you, Shirogane.”

The woman leans over to tell Shiro the words that Matt had said and Pidge suspects that Takashi had tried to learn just enough English to give a polite greeting and is obvious that he put a lot of effort into trying to learn that.

Shiro’s face lights up and speaks but it isn’t in English.

The woman clears her throat and allows, “Takashi says he’s glad to be here and can’t wait to see what the future holds.”

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

Pidge (sent: Wed, 09 Aug, 16:27):  
_KEITH ULL NEVER GUESS_

Keith is curious now.

Keith (sent: Wed, 09 Aug, 16:29):  
_surprise me_

The response is almost immediate

Pidge (sent: Wed, 09 Aug, 16:30)  
_me and matt met takashi and he’s big  
_ _like big and really tall_  
taller than hunk

Not many people were taller than Hunk, Keith had to admit. Keith will concede that he is curious about who Takashi is and what he looks like, but he’s not that invested in Matt’s situation.

Pidge’s voice is somewhere at the back of his mind, reminding him of all these possibilities that he can have and discover that he firmly decides to ignore. He’s had years of practice to resist such temptation and desire to keep him grounded in realism that will prevent him from hoping for something that could lead to disappointment.

He’s used to that kind of feeling, but it still isn’t a feeling that Keith wants to be reminded of regardless of how many times he’s had to experience it. It’s best to keep himself at a distance than to allow himself to get too close, to fly near the sun is always dangerous and not a game that Keith is willing to let himself play.

Unwilling to traverse this path and to pull himself from going toward that dark corridor, Keith reorients and refocuses.

Keith (sent: Wed, 09 Aug, 16:37):  
_is he gonna be too big for the bed?_

Pidge (sent: Wed, 09 Aug, 16:40):  
_idk but we can always modify it_

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

Perhaps this major that Keith is trying to push himself into isn’t quite the right one.

Keith is in his second year of college, his second year on joining the engineering department, specifically avionics, and believing that he wants to study in the field that he has always been passionate about since an early age. He likes aircraft, he likes flying them, he likes working on them, he likes the feel of an engine underneath his fingers and oil under his nails and the vibrations of a motor that shakes through his body and sinks deep under his skin. There are so many aspects that are appealing have made Keith want to become a part of this field.

But with this, comes the copious amounts of equations, theorems, and applications mechanics, and physics that Keith isn’t too fond of wanting to learn. It’s a continuous pile of information that Keith has to ingest and regurgitate into something that can be explained with proficiency and dexterity that Keith sure doesn’t feel within his being. This is something that Pidge and Hunk normally excel in. They have come together a few times all come together to help Keith get the hang of theorems and laws (“ _Oh, come on, Keith, you know what Wein’s Law is; he’s the plagiarizer ‘cause he couldn’t be as cool as Planck or Kirchoff._ ”) and slogging through so much goddamn math that Keith thinks he’s going to wake up at his desk, writing out some kind of complicated equation that needs three whole pages to solve.

Keith is on another night that’s looking to be sleepless in order to grasp a few concepts that Keith had been struggling with longer than he would like to admit, his class with Professor Slav being one of the most strenuous, as well as annoying, classes that Keith had the misfortune of having to go through. Additionally, there’s the added misfortune of Professor Slav’s obsession with trying to explain the dozens of ways a theory or application can exponentially go wrong, that even low fail percentages can cause such catastrophic events. Keith can’t count how many times the professor has talked about some indiscriminate detail somehow causing a three percent chance of food poisoning in some near-unrelated event that will likely have no bearing on what they’re supposed to be doing.

Keith’s forehead is well acquainted with the desk whenever these frequent tangent take place.

Keith isn’t there for what ifs or the possibilities that could happen that could result in even the smallest change. However, professor Slav seems to think everything needs to be stated in full and talked about in thorough detail, often going into a tangent that Keith can see the enthusiasm level in everyone in the room decline. Keith watches as many slowly put their head into their hands, knowing that professor Slav is about to go into another ten minute, near-incomprehensible explanation about something happening below a three percent chance and how it could have terrible butterfly effects.

The side of Keith’s face is pressed against the desk, his eyes staring out ahead but not registering what exactly he’s looking at. His mind is slowly losing focus on the task at hand, his book pushed to the side of his desk in a heap that’s losing its importance in his mind despite knowing he needs it to continue his work. Keith pushes his head up to where his chin is pressing into the desk, lips pursing, his eyes glancing back to where his book rests.

It’s so innocuous in its presence, but with professor Slav’s ramblings and his too intricate explanations about any and all information within it, Keith can feel such a resentment building up for it.

Instead, Keith’s eyes drift to other places, unwilling to keep staring at the book. He glances at his papers that are pushed to the side, at the written words that fill the margins of the paper that blur the longer he gazes at it. He looks at his pencil that lingers at a corner of his paper, discarded in a fit of frustration that ate away his desire to continue. Instead, Keith pushes back and lifts his chin from the desk, leaning back as his lungs release a sigh, one that is of a long-suffering quality, as his Keith crosses in front of his chest.

He doesn’t want to, he really doesn’t.

Keith’s eyes drift to his phone, a small way away from his book.

There’s a thought that begins to take shape the longer he stares at it, and the longer he allows his eyes to linger on the device, the more this thought begins to form from this vague, shapeless thought to something with a solid presence.

“ _Just think about it_ ,” comes Pidge’s voice somewhere from the back of his mind.

As much as Keith doesn’t want to admit, as much as he wishes there still wasn’t that desire that he thought wasn’t supposed to amount to anything more than this vague afterthought, there is still this urge to look into this foreign exchange student from Japan.

Ever since Keith was a child, those days spent staring at bare walls that are faded with cracks along them, with scrubbed and smeared crayon tracks and chipping paint that proclaims of their age. He remembers a time when the bunk bed were past their prime and the nails that held them together were dangerously close to being too loose to hold anything together, where the metal of its frame was rusting over and groaning with every movement. Days of old that Keith would rather not think about, would rather not revisit, that are now trying to clamor for his attention.

It’s that longing that begins to collect within his chest, placed safely behind his ribs so that Keith has no chance of reaching it, something born from a childhood that desperately desired what it couldn’t have. It’s a desire that was supposed to have languidly suffocated as it faced neglect as time went on. Keith tries to swallow down on the thoughts that are trying rear up, clenching his teeth against the old feelings of inadequacy that are trying to make a comeback.

It’s that childhood desire that tries to urge him to call Pidge, to look into who Pidge is housing. It’s the very same feelings that wants him to see this man and learn everything that he can offer.

He is mixed race, he’s half-Japanese (he never quite knew what his dad was, he only vaguely remembers deeply tanned skin, large hands, and dark eyes; it’s been so long since he’s seen his dad that the details are starting to blur and Keith always hates to remember that he’s losing more of his dad as time goes on), and Keith has spent most of his life wishing he could have been able to know and understand that part of his culture, wishing he could have had the opportunity to be able to experience what it is like. When he went to school, it was seeing other kids—kids with parents, kids with some kind of family, kids who _knew_ where they came from being able to take part in their own heritage so freely and without confusion would always draw forth that little ugly beast that whispered these low things within his mind and gave him thoughts to the worst kind of jealousy.

Keith has long since recognized that at the age of nine or ten, a kid doesn’t truly understand the full capacity of what they’re missing. It doesn’t really register beyond what a child is going through and the feelings of inadequacy and longing that comes with it. It took years for Keith to fully understand what he was going through. It’s been a long time since Keith was a child and yet, so many years since Keith thought he let go of those feelings. It turns out, much to Keith’s dismay, they still exist with enough longing behind them that it still bothers him.

It seems as though Keith never truly got over just how much he missed out on as a child.

Instead, Keith shakes himself, rolling his shoulders, and trying to breathe through those memories play against the back of his eyelids, pushing them back and into the dark corners in his mind away from the where the light can reach. They don’t need attention and he won’t give them the time of day.

He shoves his phone away, hoping to not feed into the temptation to call Pidge that’s curling against the corners of his mind.

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

There is one thing that comes to Shiro’s mind as he stares out the window at the scenery that’s a blur of warm colors against the pale blue color of a cloudless sky as the car consumes miles of road.

The heat is _insufferable_.

Shiro had seen the desert in many old time movies that would play back home, movies from a vintage time that people still seem to be obsessed with but in all, Shiro doesn’t know much about United States’ history to comment on it, that depicted nothing but tall canyons smeared with red and orange and pale greens that are scattered through the land and tall, thorny cactus that are left alone. It’s the image of the old Wild West that Shiro had begun to conjure images of: John Wayne with a crooked cowboy hat, of horse tracks in cracked and dry dirt, of large, sprawling canyons shaded in deep oranges.

Not… whatever this is.

Instead of the vast, wild images Shiro had been thinking of, he’s treated to flat roads and patchy areas of shrubs and everything a light brown to orange with all these concrete buildings and construction taking place as car horns blare and people shouting and punching the wheel of their car as though it’s going to solve the amount of traffic taking place.

But holy shit, the _heat_.

Alright, so Shiro is used to things being warm, where temperatures get up in the twenties and thirties. He can handle that, and it doesn’t go on forever.

But this, with the heat pervading every opening on his body, collecting against his eyes, filling his lungs—the air feels thin, like he isn’t taking in enough but Shiro knows it’s just the heat that makes it feel like he isn’t breathing at all. Beads of sweat are trailing down his forehead and under his chin and all over neck. His shirt pressed is being held against his back as sweat continues to collect there. As Shiro had walked outside, he couldn’t imagine just how warm this place was going to be.

His phone had happily informed him that it was _40_ _° C_ outside and Shiro felt a kind of betrayal in his stomach. How did cowboys of the old Wild West movies stand the heat? They made it look like there wasn’t any heat of the caliber.

_This is what I was wanting to get myself into_ , is a thought that passes through his mind as he looks around.

The walk between the doors of the airport and the parking lot felt long and arduous as Shiro thought about the possibility of boiling within his own skin.

_“Oh my god, it’s much hotter than I realized,”_ Shiro lets slip as he grasps at the collar of his shirt, pulling on it as he tries to air out the collected heat against his chest. His host family glances at him before they look at his translator, who dutifully informs them the translated words. They seem to take it in stride, nodding their heads before Holt turns back around, his sister lingering, her eyes turning to him before she says something. Only bits of what she’s saying really gets through as Shiro tries desperately to think about the Duolingo lessons and their English he tried to learn. He catches a few words, like _hot, time, year_ , and maybe a few others, but he can’t exactly figure it out. His translator tells him, “ _August is when it gets really hot._ ”

She seems to remember that Shiro isn’t fluent in English as she scrambles to say something, but Shiro can recognize the word _sorry_ and he smiles, a little endeared, but also reminded of how he needs to grasp English quickly if he wants to have some kind of independence. Shiro supposes that she would also like to be able to go out on her own and have fun and explore without having to worry about being back in time to help Shiro around. He’d surely hate to cut into her time and being forced to make accommodations for him.He appreciates his translator and her dedication to helping him around, but Shiro doesn’t want to become a burden that begins to limit her own freedom. Shiro would feel too guilty about that even though it is her job to accompany him and to help him understand things he doesn’t understand, but he’d also feel guilt over being frustrated that he can’t rely on himself to maintain his own independence.

Shiro raises his hands, _“it’s okay, it’s fine,”_ and hopes it translates.

It seems to, and she nods, visibly relieved but also a little sheepish forgetting that he can’t speak English. Shiro assumes that she doesn’t know his boundaries or what he could take offense to, and Shiro is a little amused that she’s being so careful but also appreciates the generosity and her desire to not want to step out of line into an awful territory.

It’s a small amount of time from the last spoken words, but Shiro leans forward and lets his hands come up to rest on the seat in front of his, looking over the seat and at the smaller girl, and lets a soft, _“I don’t know your name and I would like to be able to call you something other than “Holt’s sister’.”_

There’s still that sheepish look on her face, but she does look to the translator.

“Oh,” is a little surprised from her, and she turns back to him. She raises a petite hand, curling her fingers and keeping her pointer finger raised. The auburn-haired girl points a finger at herself, and proudly says, “Pidge.”

There’s a grin that curls at the corners of Shiro’s mouth. He mimics the movement and says, _“Shiro.”_

The taller man reaches out a hand in a gesture of a handshake. Pidge allows a grin as well that shows a hint of teeth, grasps at Shiro’s hand..

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

“I don’t want him to feel like he has to learn English and that we’re not gonna do anything for him.”

Keith’s ambling around the kitchen area of his dorm, a communal one, unfortunately, his phone wedged between his shoulder and ear.

“I feel like it would be rude if he were the only one who had to change himself in order to fit in here, and I just don’t want him to think that he has to conform. That’s, like, prime entitled American. We’re his hosts, it’s only courtesy that we try to learn his culture instead of only him learning ours.”

Keith stops, checking on the simmering meat. “So, what you’re saying, is that you want me to possibly teach you?”

“Keith, you’re one of my best friends,” she starts, taking on that same tone she uses when she’s trying to placate him and butter him up in order to slowly slide him toward agreeing with what she wants to happen. “We’ve known each other for so long, we’ve been through so much together, I would never use you like that—”

“Japanese isn’t hard if you put your mind to it.”

“Oh, thank god, I was really scared there—”

“That’s going to be thirty dollars for the first week.”

There’s a prolonged silence on the other line. Keith flips the meat.

“... are you serious?”

“Pidge, I’m a struggling college student, I need all I can get.”

“Keith, if you think I’m going to—”

Keith lets out a laugh, bringing his hand up to shift and reposition the phone. It effectively cuts Pidge’s opening line to her rant.

“Pidge, you know I wouldn’t actually do that to you. I may be cheap and my appetite may be exclusively cheap, off-brand ramen, but I’m not going to pull that kind of thing on you.” Keith walks to the sink area, grimacing at the messiness of it, cursing lazy college students and their inability to clean up after themselves. Too many college students have relied on their parents clean up after them for so long, where many of them don’t understand that there isn’t someone there to clean up after them. Keith thinks it definitely shows.

There is a questionable stain on the right-hand side of the sink that Keith avoids.

“Besides, I don’t know how good I’d be since I’m not completely fluent.”

Ever since Keith had been a child and had found out part of his own culture, he always wanted to learn Japanese. He’d spent so much time as a child unsure of who he was, unsure of what he belonged to, and it only helped to add to the feelings of inadequacy where other children had known where they came from and were able to indulge it to their heart’s content. He’d watch children of many different ethnicities in his classes speak their language, to talk to their parents when they’d come to pick them up, their mother tongue flowing in such a practiced ease that left Keith wishing he could know what own heritage is.

As a mixed-race child that couldn’t figure out where he had come from, it left a lot of questions that he couldn’t answer due to his own confusion about it, and had created dwellings of doubt and some insecurity. Those little questions from kids who harbored their own confusion about being mixed with different ethnicities that it left them trying to grasp what Keith was supposed to identify with. It left him vulnerable to the crueler of the kids in his classes, their own words of goading and taunting. All of them had tried to make him feel lesser for knowing where he came from. He was a mutt to them, he was something dirtied, he was blood that wasn’t pure—he was all kind of things that rejected his status.

One year, the orphanage decided to do one of those DNA test kits on everyone, taking a q-tip to every child’s mouth, having to stop some of the younger children from trying to eat the q-tips, and had neatly packaged them up and sent them off. Keith didn’t really think much of it though he was interested in what the results would yield.

_Japanese: 47%.  
_ _Native American (Navajo): 33%_

There had been other ethnicities listed after that but Keith’s mind had zeroed in on the first two options, Japanese and Native American. Keith didn’t know anything about Native American but he remembers his father’s dark skin, that Keith vaguely remembers living near a Native American reservation somewhere in northeastern Arizona, but the details back from when his father was still alive are fleeting to him. In the present, Keith assumes his dad was mixed with Native American and to what extent, he’s not sure, but to a child back then that didn’t know anything beyond the yearning for a place to belong, he hadn’t known how to process that information.

It makes sense but, in a way, it doesn’t. Keith now knows that there isn’t a specific look that someone takes when they are mixed, there’s no cookie cutter formula to how a mixed person will present, but as a child, Keith didn’t know that. He had looked at himself in the mirror and scrutinized his appearance: he had pale skin, violet-colored eyes, black hair, a slighter frame, and he couldn’t see the features. He didn’t know what signs he was looking for, but as a child that was desperate, he decided the Native American part wasn’t going to welcome him because of his features. He’d been subject to too many tauntings from the kids around him that gave him too much doubt. Nowadays, Keith isn’t completely sure if he’d be welcome because of his mixed ethnicities might clash too much, but he knows that he was just a naive child looking for a place and that his looks were going to get him rejected.

(It’s typical, questioning one’s self about their culture and heritage that comes from different backgrounds, and not uncommon, Keith had found. Identity crisis is experienced by many people who are mixed race, and Keith happened to be no exception.)

So, Keith focused on Japanese. It was easier to access information on the culture as a whole as he had learned that many Native American languages were undocumented and traditionally passed down through mouth. He had also not known of any children at the orphanage that were Native American so he didn’t know where else to go for it. Keith considered it a lost cause even though he wanted to pursue it.

Keith chose to focus on Japanese. He had asked around at school and found out there was a Japanese-American teacher that had been teaching for almost twenty years that Keith never had interacted with, nor had he crossed paths with. That teacher had been kind in a way that Keith wanted to reject, that he wanted to prove was false and that he had was going to show his true, awful colors that everyone eventually does. However, he’d been willing to teach Keith Japanese, teach him about Japan, about the culture, and Keith could feel the beginnings of fulfilling that longing that had buried itself deep within his chest and behind his ribs.

Like all good things that happen in Keith’s life, it wasn’t meant to last.

Keith shakes his head, loosening the memories enough to push them out of his mind as he reorients his attention back to Pidge. There’s no use in dwelling on past events that don’t make a difference in his present now.

(He like to think they don’t make a difference; he likes to think they’re still not trailing behind him and trying to snap at his Achilles heel in an effort to make him look back every time.)

Pidge goes on, chiming in with, “I think you’re better than you realize.”

Keith snorts.

“Seriously, I’d hate to be that one commercial that said English is the only language America needs, I don’t want to be like that. I can just hear it, ' _If you wanna live here, learn it_ ,' and it's just skeevy.”

“You’re freaking out more than you need to.”

“I just want to be a good host.”

“Isn’t that Matt’s job?”

“I can help.”

Keith moves to pick the skillet off the stove. “I don’t know if I can help, I’m not that fluent, I know enough to get by.”

Pidge makes an inquisitive noise. “Didn’t you use to take lessons when you were a kid? Can’t you find whoever it was who gave you those lessons?”

"I don't think he's teaching anymore."

"Sure, you can find someone to help me out?"

"You know Craigslist exists, right?"

_“Keith.”_

“You know there’s tutors. Doesn’t he have a translator? Can’t you learn from them?”

There’s a rustling from the other line, a brief pause and Pidge is back with, “I don’t really want to take her away from Shiro. He doesn’t have too much of a grasp on English, and I’d hate to pull her between Shiro and me.”

The interracial man switches his phone to the other shoulder as the one that has his phone nestled is starting to strain with usage. Instead, he decides to place it on speaker as he heads toward the sink to begin washing the skillet.

“You can tell his translator that you plan to learn Japanese to better talk to him, I’m sure he’d be happy to know that.”

“But what if that’s not enough? I may not be good at comforting and being all touch-y feel-y, but I’ll at least make an effort—”

“You’re freaking out.”

“Am not.”

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

So…

The whole, using a translator to get around…

Isn’t going so well for Shiro.

Now, this isn’t to rag on his translator, she is doing an amazing job at being patient and understanding, taking time to diligently translate things he doesn’t understand or know about, things that don’t make much sense to him culturally and things that have vastly different meanings in his culture. Tanizaki is very patient with him, her voice gentle, a soft smile on her face as she tells him about things that may never have made sense to him, having them put into terms that he can understand. He’s grateful for her effort, for her patience, the way she breaks things down for him to understand.

But Shiro needs that independence he used to have.

He’s used to relying on his own intelligence, he’s used to his own independence and the freedom to make his own informed choices, to move about and travel on his own without needing anything to help him.

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

It does surprise him about the differences between America and Japan.

For one, the public transportation isn’t as… maintained as it is in Japan.

Well, Shiro supposes, when half of the country relies on public transportation compared to another country that relies more on their own chooses to be more self-reliant than depend on public transportation, there’s no real desire to maintain the transportation system. He had obtained a brochure that had the bus schedule of the city, or at least one of them, and Shiro had seen many of the buses come… within a generous time after they were scheduled. He’s trying to not judge, he’s trying to keep an open mind, but he’s finding it hard to reconcile just how different the public transportation system is in America.

Shiro feels odd walking by a train station and not seeing Japanese spoken over the intercom or displayed in a text to refer to which trains are arriving or departing. He’s used to the trains back home announcing in English and at least showing the next stop in English so that part isn't out of the ordinary for him. But being here, in Phoenix, he’s waiting to hear the Japanese announced, but instead, his translator tells him that a language called Spanish takes the place of Japanese. She tells him the state has a large population of Spanish-speaking people to the point where it was seen as a necessity.

Shiro looks around the Holt family’s house, taking in the front of it before he steps foot into it

For a family of four, this house is… much bigger than what he would think they would need. The pictures he had seen can't compare to the size of the house in real life.

For one, Tanizaki had told him that they lived in a traditional style house but Shiro didn’t know what that meant but he just nodded along as if he knew what it meant.

But from what he’s looking at, it’s very large, surrounded by areas of trees, something he thought deserts wouldn’t have, but this apparently what an American [traditional style house](http://amazingarchitecture.net/2015/10/14/luxury-traditional-style-house-in-vancouver/) looks like.

Again, is this really what a family of this size needs?

(It’s just Shiro’s inability to reconcile this much space for such a small family where he’s sure they don’t even use all of the rooms in the house. The broad man would love to have just a portion of this space as he thinks back to his own apartment in Nagoya, so much smaller than what this house is.

God, he hopes he doesn’t start thinking of this amount of space as the his new standard, and that when Shiro goes back to his apartment, he won’t think of his home as a downgrade in space. Perhaps he’ll move out of his apartment and maybe get a house, somewhere in the north where there’s a lot of forests, maybe he’ll become a mountain man and cut down his own trees.)

He’s shown his own room and he has to gape at the size of the bed.

_“Holt said it was a king-sized bed. He said he wasn’t sure how tall you were but he wanted to be safe,”_ his translator lets him know.

_“Huh,”_ is the only thing Shiro comments with.

The bed is so fucking huge, dwarfing the size of his own bed back in his apartment.

Shiro doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to occupy all of this space.


	2. 2.

Well, about the translator, again…

Shiro appreciates her, he really does…

However, there’s a _but_ that comes after.

It’s Shiro's first day at the university. The campus is large and bustling with people, statues and sculptures that are scattered through the campus from what he has seen, and an occasional fountain placed in what Shiro had seen are very busy areas. It leads him to believe they were placed there to show off and to make sure a lot of people see them. It’s reminiscent of the university he had been going to, and he supposes it’s a universal thing, not exactly designated to a specific culture.

(He did find some disappointment that the vending machines didn’t offer him a warm coffee option. He’ll settle for the cold Starbucks.)

Shiro is dazzled by the sights and sounds around him, his translator keeping up with the tour guide-like explanation that Holt is launching into, but Shiro’s barely keeping up as his own attention diverted to many places. From fountains to grand sweeping pieces of architecture, to small restaurants and cafes that are scattered about the area. He sees a sign modeled from stone, surrounded by neatly trimmed bushes and an assortment of colorful flowers that have red bricks lining the edge of the plants and flowers, and large and fancy script saying _Welcome to the University of Altea_ and a smaller scrawl underneath that reads _Home of the Ferocious Lions!_ According to his translator.

There’s excitement that bubbles within his stomach, a feeling that overshadows any kind of concern that he may have as it covers the apprehension about his level of understanding English.

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

“So, I heard that Matt is super excited about being a host to that guy from Japan. That’s all she really talks about, it’s never, _‘Hunk! I’m glad to see you! How are you?’_ No, it’s all about this new guy. What about us, Keith? What about the originals?”

It's not actually serious from Hunk, but Pidge has spent her last few days talking about this Takashi Shirogane that is now living with her and the Holt family.

It’s early in the afternoon on a Monday with nothing between here and there that Keith has to do that’s pressing and in need of immediate attention. He’s seated at one of the small tables of the coffee shop that’s sort of secluded from campus. There are a few coffee shops around the campus, only four because of how large the campus is. None of the coffee shops are huge, but they are of a decent size, enough to hold about seventy-five people, according to the capacity signs posted in them. One of them received an upgrade to have a small bookstore built onto it last year so it has become the most popular on campus, but it’s not the one Keith works at.

Keith works a part time job at this coffee shop, named the _Cafe of Lions_. It’s something that brings him some extra money, something every college student is aching for. Sure, he has to deal with attitude of unsavory people during some of his free time that he volunteers away for this job and the poor excuses they use to get away with such behavior, but he’ll do what it takes for that extra money. He’s a slave to the system, unfortunately.

It’s during Keith’s break, or rather, when the coffee shop experiences a decrease in the amount of traffic that comes through the doors. There are coffee shops placed strategically on the four corners of the university. The one Keith works is the southwest corner, the one with most of the trees, and currently, there’s not a lot of people that are coming through, so Keith is free to kick up his feet at one of the small tables.

Hunk had stopped by to visit Keith during the break, which isn’t that necessary since Keith’s shift is ending in about an hour, but he appreciates Hunk’s presence.

Hunk was Keith’s roommate back during his freshman year, when Keith was less willing to interact with anyone other than Pidge and her family, but she had been a mutual friend between them. It wasn’t a lively relationship they had created because Keith doesn't naturally gravitate toward forming friendships with people. He is quiet and somewhat wary of new people that have come into his orbit, whereas Hunk was louder and more of a social butterfly that thrived on social interaction, and a much larger presence than Keith’s was used to. It wasn’t an immediate relationship, or even delayed, but according to Hunk, it took him a few months to be convinced that Keith didn't hate him or not want him around.

_“It’s just, you know, you’re quiet and kind of gloomy and you just sort of stare at things in this broody way—not that you’re broody or anything! I mean, there’s nothing wrong with being broody! Some people find it really attractive! Not that I’m saying you are—I mean—... I’m just gonna stop.”_

Pidge would later call him about Hunk complaining about Keith hating him because Keith wouldn’t talk to him in their dorm, that Keith wasn’t receptive to his attempts to make conversation, and it is honestly wearing down on Hunk’s self-esteem. Hunk was used to talking to everyone, he liked to interact with people. To Hunk, people were generally welcoming of company and sought companionship with others, but Keith? He was a whole different story. It took a lot of pestering from Pidge for him to even think about talking to Hunk, but he couldn’t help but felt bad about this being a misunderstanding and that he didn’t actually hate Hunk.

He’s a great guy, a little nervous and loud and tends to ramble in unsure situations, but still a good guy.

But whereas Hunk was a slow presence that Keith was beginning to accept, there were much… less welcomed things.

With Hunk, came a boy named... Lance.

Now, Keith had no idea who this person was, had never Lance in his life, and no matter how hard he tried, Keith couldn't recall anything he might have done to anger Lance. As soon as Lance had come into his and Hunk's dorm, his eyes locked onto Keith and gasped, a finger raising and pointing at him in such a dramatic fashion that Keith’s confusion was momentarily taken over by a brief amount of amusement.

“I should have known it was you, Keith! I knew you were the guy who made Hunk feel like shit!”

Any neutral feelings that had the potential to turn positive could be heard being flushed down one of the toilets from the floor’s communal bathroom down the hall.

Turns out, Lance is Hunk’s best friend since middle school, and Lance had been vowing to confront Keith about making his best friend doubt himself by refusing to let Hunk befriend him. Lance had also spouted about Keith showing him up back tenth grade and took his spot on something Keith can’t remember, and that they had been declared rivals. Keith has no recollection of this, doesn’t know when that situation happened, but he hadn’t been interested giving Lance anymore reason to be angry at him. As much as Keith started to get used to, even like, Hunk’s presence, Lance was an unfortunate side effect as he learned Hunk and Lance were a duo pair; they were never that far apart, and that meant Lance was somewhere nearby. That meant Lance coming was going to be coming into his space when Hunk was around.

And that meant dealing with Lance’s comments.

The amount of snide and antagonistic comments that Lance had made were slowly getting on Keith’s nerves. Keith didn’t know what he did to Lance, he never really talked to Lance, he never tried to interact with him, too put off by his attitude—arrogant and full of himself, and taking out everything he doesn’t like on Keith. It gets worse as time goes on—Lance gets worse; he gets mean, he gets personal and it takes a toll on Keith's patience. It begins to affect Hunk, uncomfortable about it but he’s still willing to support Lance but it's in this neutral kind of way that doesn't encourage Lance, but obviously not wanting to appear like he's choosing Keith over Lance. Keith thinks Hunk must be aware that it isn't teasing, that Lance is genuinely being mean and antagonistic, but makes some attempts to stop Lance by placating him to get him to at least stop trying to make snide comments and aggressive behavior toward Keith.

It comes to a head with Keith snapping, ready to get physical with Lance because his patience is at an end and done with putting up with Lance’s behavior and Hunk intervening (Hunk later tells him that he knew Lance wouldn’t survive a fight with him and he needed to stop them before someone [Lance] got really hurt. He will admit as well that Lance was more than deserving of a punch in the face but to not tell Lance), sitting them all down for a homemade meal and a _Nice Talk_ to sort out feelings.

It’s been smooth ever since.

(“Listen,” Pidge begins, looking determined, orienting herself as she tries to hold herself with confidence, looking at Hunk but gives a pointed look at Lance, “I get it, Keith isn’t always the easiest to get along with.”

The look Lance gives Pidge tells her he’s about to make a snide remark but she holds up a hand.

“But you have you understand that Keith—he doesn’t—” and Pidge pauses, looking for the right words, “—he’s not given me the full details yet, and he trusts me to not divulge them, and I won’t, but…” and Pidge breathes before relaxing, “Keith has been through a lot, more than what he deserves. He’s not told me all of it, but it has to do with his childhood and really bad things happening,” and at the end of those words, Hunk winces, and Lance has the gall to look guilty and wincing at thinking about his previous actions, “and I’m sure there’s more to it but he’s getting better at opening but it’s tentative right now.”

Pidge's eyes narrow and she drops the determined air she had projected, crossing her arms. “Keith is one of my best friends and I’m not gonna sit by and watch you attack him,” and it doesn’t take any guessing as to who Pidge is referring to. “It took me so long just to get him to be comfortable with hanging out with me, not even counting the time it took me to get Keith to talk to me. He’s trying, more so than you are. Just… give him a chance, stop this weird antagonism.”

Keith may express an outward protection of Pidge, but Pidge tries to give back, grateful that Keith would trust her.

“Tomorrow, you both are gonna go talk to him. And you, Lance, will not act like you have been toward him.”)

Keith has his phone clasped with both of his hands and tilted vertically as he’s absentmindedly playing a game. The current time has most of campus’ classes in session and guarantees few people traversing around the campus, leaving Keith free to waste away his last hour of the shift. Hunk sits across from him, munching on a pastry, flipping through one of his books but not doing much of anything to show that he’s actually looking through it.

“Pidge said he’s not what you’d expect.”

Hunk glances back to Keith. “Do you know what he looks like? Pidge mentioned that he was really tall.”

Keith stares at the _Game Over_ title card on the screen of his phone, lips thinning in a hint of irritation, but continues with, “I haven’t, but I’m going over sometime next Saturday, so I’ll probably see him around.” The smaller man sits his phone down before he allows himself to sink down into his chair. “What about you? Any plans?”

“Lance wants try out that cafe about two blocks down from the science department.”

“This wouldn’t have to do with that one British exchange student that he’s been trying to get the attention of? What was here name? Allana? Or Alluna?”

There is a pause before, “...no?”

Keith doesn’t say anything, letting the silence be his point.

“Okay, yes, she mentioned it a few weeks back and Lance is scouting it out.”

“And you’re going, why?”

“I gotta make sure to Lance doesn’t make bad decisions in his effort to impress her. I’m his best friend, Keith, I gotta make sure he doesn’t crash too hard.”

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

It takes a week before Shiro succumbs to seeking help.

He loves his translator, he does; she’s amazing, she’s great, she’s the light of his life, the aunt he’s never had—

Okay, Shiro wants to go out on his own and explore on his own and with his own choices, and without what is, essentially, being supervised.

His translator is doing a good job, she’s doing the best he can, but Shiro can’t help but think how she deserves to have her own time without being constantly bothered every time Shiro wants to do something.

The language barrier between Shiro and the Holt family isn’t unmanageable, but there is this feeling like something is lost between their languages that could have a different meaning, something that Shiro may not be understanding as language-specific nuances are possibly being lost between translations. Shiro wants to be able to communicate without needing context and translation, he wants to have full conversations because Shiro is a friendly, outgoing guy that isn’t content to sit by and just not talk to people. He greets people, he talks to the old ladies on the corner, he talks to the cashiers behind the counter at Family Mart, and he even crouches down in the back alleys to talk to the stray cats running around.

He’s such a creature of social comforts and being denied this aspect of himself is having an affect on Shiro. It's making him feel antsy and deprived.

Shiro misses the easy conversation, he misses the common ground that he found with people, he just misses talking to someone and it’s just not the same when there’s a middleman needed in order to make the transaction smoother.

Shiro concocts a plan to figure this out.

He plans to let Tanizaki know as he would feel guilty for not letting her know. There has to be an easy way to tell her that he doesn’t quite want her to follow him around in the nicest and most polite tone that he can.

_“So, I think you’re really good at your job and your help is very appreciated,”_ Shiro begins in the politest tone he can manage, but he can see from her look that she knows something is coming in behind it and that these words are the calm before the storm. It’s a lost cause trying to let her into this gently as the dark-haired woman puts a hand up and closes her eyes, a small smile on her face.

_“Please, Shirogane, I appreciate your concern, but it’s not necessary.”_ Tanizaki lowers her hand, allowing it to settle within her lap. “I can see that while you appreciate my help with the English language, it is constricting to you.”

_“Well, I, uh—that’s not—not what I wanted to—t”_

_“I understand, Shirogane, you don’t have to lie to me to save my feelings, although I do appreciate it.”_

Even though she understands his feelings, Shiro still can’t help but feel guilty about it. His hand raises and fingers find themselves pressing to the back his head, rubbing against the undercut there that displays his embarrassment.

_“You have had independence all your life in Japan, having the choice and freewill to do as you wish. I know this must be different for you, to rely on someone to help you get around. I know you appreciate my service, but I can see you wish to be on your own.”_

She leans forward on her elbows. “I know you want to have independence and I’m not upset about that. I’m here to help you as much as you need. Please don’t think I’ll be upset about you wanting to go out on your own. It’s only natural for young people,” and there’s a soft chuckle, “because I was young like you are and I wanted to do the very things you’re attempting to do.”

There’s a weight that decides it can fall to the floor and off his chest that allows Shiro to breathe better as he finds himself feeling better about wanting to find help outside of her expertise.

Now, comes the part where Shiro actually has to find help.

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

Keith is shoving a bagel smothered in cream cheese into his mouth when something so colorful and bright suddenly demands his attention. He comes to a stop to get a good look at what caught his attention.

Keith squints at a bulletin board, covered in old flyers from events weeks ago passed that are crowded by flyers and posters pertaining to things months ahead from the date. It’s not the carefully plotted and pristine lettering and floral designs and loud, neon-colored words that get his attention. There are papers that are artfully colored that the cultural arts center prides itself on its creativity and… eye for graphic design that Keith would like to know what their definition for graphic aesthetics are, but that’s neither here nor there.

What really catches Shiro’s attention is this regular-sized paper with large, comic sans prints on a background of a poorly-drawn starry sky that he supposes is supposed to be a galaxy, as the print, in white, is placed on top of a red rectangle that has a large but simple message:

_Please Help: Will pay $200 for English learning_

Certainly, that amount of money catches Keith’s attention, his mounting college debts clamoring for the attention of that amount of money that it almost drowns out the original intents of the paper from registering within Keith’s mind. Once the amount of money that’s being offered finally passes through Keith’s mind, when his college debts are no longer trying to be considered for where that money should be going, he finally catches the text, a little smaller, that’s hanging out underneath the large comic sans font.

_I am Japanese, needing English._

There’s a thought in Keith’s mind that drifts him back to Matt’s current foreign exchange project before he shakes his head. Certainly, there is more than just one Asian foreign exchange student here, and certainly there is more than just one Japanese person here.

That amount of money is certainly calling out to Keith.

Keith looks away from the board, searching around for what may look like someone attempting to shy away from the board and away from this… attempt of a flyer. Keith doesn’t know much about graphic design as that’s not really his field of expertise, but even by this standard, Keith knows it’s not going to get much recognition beyond many roasts and clownings in many private group chats. No one looks like they’re trying to hide from this flyer, no one is moving away suspiciously fast so it can be assumed that the owner has left long before Keith arrived.

Keith’s eyes are back on the flyer, reading the cellphone number and email, looking to see if there’s anything else to the flyer. He eyes that amount of money listed, it’s a free two hundred dollars, all for some lessons in being able to help some guy be able to understand enough English to get around. It might not even be deep lessons, they might not be looking for something long term but all Keith has to do is just show up, teach them the difference between _they’re, their,_ and _there_ , and he’s all set with two hundred dollars more in his bank than what he originally had.

However, is he really going to commit for two hundred?

But in honesty, Keith had been curious about who and why this… amazing-looking flyer had been posted to the bulletin board. It’s just another flyer (with a poor aesthetic) on a bulletin board of a thousand others that doesn’t do much to stand out—or maybe it does with that design, but Keith considers the flyer a little longer before he remembers that yes, he has class and not to be standing here and deciphering the artistic choices that were decided upon for this image.

As he walks beyond the board, Keith can’t help but think about it. Not the horrible MS Paint for it, but the fact that there’s a person that is part of the culture he was denied that’s reaching out.

( _“I don’t know where you came from, boy, but in this house, we don’t speak un-American. English is the only American language, none of that Jap or ching chong garbage will be said in this house.”_

_Uncompromising eyes stare him down._

_“Speak American or get out.”_ )

He walks backward toward the flyer again, starting at it, and before he can realize it, his hand is reaching out to the flyer, fingers touching against the top of the flyer before his fingers dip behind the flyer to wedge between the board and the paper.

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

“I saw this flyer that even Lance couldn’t be responsible for.”

That catches Pidge’s attention, a book open and two notebooks spread out beside them, a cup of cranberry juice next to those. Keith has an exam coming up in the next week, and they’re both currently in Keith’s dorm. Keith’s sitting on his bed, back to the wall, twirling a pen in his fingers, a testament that he’s losing interest in studying.

Instead, Keith reaches over and rummages through his books, pulling out the flyer he had taken and stuck into his books as he was honestly too lazy to slip it into his bag. When he pulls it out, he can hear a snort leave Pidge’s throat when she sees the image of what the flyer looks like.

“Japanese, huh?”

She looks to be considering.

“Well, Shiro’s got a translator, so I don’t think he’d put that up.”

Pidge leans back in her (Hunk’s) chair, head tilting back and looking at Keith. “Maybe it’s someone else. I doubt that Shiro’s the only foreign exchange student.” She corrects her glasses when they slide a little on her face. “Also, you haven’t met Shiro yet. You should come to my house this weekend and at least see him.”

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

It’s a shame that there’s no Japanese subtitles Shiro has access to when he turns on the television.

It’s a large television, one much bigger than he’s used to. It’s a sign that Holt and his family are very well off. There many things lying around this house that give signs to how much money Holt’s parents make, remembering that both of them teach at the university.

Shiro is just more or less flipping through the channels and seeing how Japanese and American programming differs. He remembers few American channels that were shown, he remembers a few shows that were sort of popular in Japan enough to get some dubbing over it but other than that, most were given subtitles. He remembers CNN in a hotel he stayed at once, it being the only full English American channel that was playing. He remembers a few shows but they all escape him as he never really paid much attention to them. He’s just absently flipping through channels.

He comes on some dramatic cooking shows, a sandy-haired man in his older days yelling at a cast of frazzled chefs scurrying around a kitchen. He passes some show about a guy in plaid in a shady bathroom that has his eyes roll back and drop his phone as he passes out. He comes across a news broadcast with a woman pointing at a store and footage interrupting it of said store except completely on fire. He recognizes soap operas because of the shiny but soft glow to the camera quality to fit that soap opera-styled filming they’re known for.

A lot of shows are ones he doesn’t recognize or know popular they are to really resonate, and he’s about to turn it off when he stops on a show with these men who are shown in full makeup and in outrageous, over the top outfits, the flamboyance and dramatic flair at what he thinks are comical levels.

There’s nothing like… this back on tv in Japan, not even from the channels that are coming out of Tokyo versus any other programming from other parts of his country. However, Shiro never watched too much tv, nor did he spend much time obsessing over it like some of his peers and friends did. There may have been a few he watched but not religiously. He’s not kept up with too much so he can’t truly say that this is something that doesn’t come on.

He stays on the channel, watching these men act so dramatically, make a fuss about their clothes, make these gestures that he thinks are supposed to be vaguely threatening but he’s very impressed about their ability to… tuck themselves down there and make it seem so seamless. Shiro can barely understand, with his knowledge of English lacking, but he finds it enjoyable.

The commercials that show up after take Shiro by storm.

He sees commercials with rainbow flags, he sees men holding hands, he sees a family with two mothers, he sees a commercial with medicine in it, but without knowing too much about the English language, he can only really infer what they truly mean.

It makes something pull within his chest.

All Shiro’s life, he’s been aware of his interests in gender to be… different than what his peers would be interested in. He’s spent countless classroom hours listening to his male peers talk about girls, whether fictional or real, and how much they wish to be with them, whether for sexual gratification or marriage. He’s seen girls crowd over a magazine with the latest interview from their favorite male star. There is a lot of that around him, from advertisements, to television shows, to just everyday people walking around and expressing their relationship in public.

Shiro was fairly popular back in school and received a large amount of secret love notes, flowers, candies, and there were girls that were brave enough walk up to him to confess their crush on him to him. Shiro is a creature of a gentle nature; he may spend a lot of time in the gym and be bulky, he may have the tallest height in school, all things leading to the belief that he’d be aggressive or mean, but Shiro is still that calm and gentle presence that many of the girls find endearing.

But as Shiro received more and more letters and confessions, he just found himself less and less interested. He’d never felt attraction to women but he’d try to rationalize that maybe he just didn’t find the right girl, that maybe she was out there for him but the longer he tried to think about that, to hope for that, the more wrong it felt and that his feelings wouldn’t settle for that belief. He was still nice about it, let them down gently but kept his feelings vague.

More time passes, more letters, more admiration, and though he’s flattered to be considered attractive, it’s not what he truly wants. No, he spends time in the gym noticing the flex of muscles, the pants of heavy breathing. Shiro notices the traits of masculinity in the stride and step of every day men. He spends more time noticing the taller, more muscular men in anime shows, on the covers of novels and manga. It’s with this increasing awareness during his life, especially in his teen years, that leads Shiro to be quiet about it, to never mention it. As a whole, not all of Japanese society—hell, even the rest of the world—wants to acknowledge or know of choices that don’t fit their rigidly-structured society.

Sure, there are a few places in Japan that are of a more accepting nature but it’s all hush-hush. He knows of the district in Tokyo, with Ni-chōme in Shinjuku. He’s seen parades and marches every so often on the news, never where he’s at, but he’s always quiet about his interest. His parents haven’t been around him to see when he’s watching these things but he’s sure, like most traditional families, they wouldn’t approve of this. They’d love him, they’d still support him, but they would ask him to not engage in those desires. Just find a girl and to give them grandchildren, do what he can to not… act that way.

Shiro actually thought about visiting Ni-chōme, seeing what it’s like, possibly exploring what it has to offer, but thinking about his parents and the possibility of not accepting it, he’d kept it to himself.

It’s seemingly a different attitude in America that he has seen, what with there being what Shiro would assume a channel dedicated to it. Perhaps… he could do something. He could… let himself explore.

But how would Shiro begin to express his own desires when he has spent his life within a rigid society that emphasizes gender roles? That emphasizes success at the cost of one’s desires? With the quiet ways that his country expressed their own distaste against things that cannot fit within their society? This isn’t some BL anime, or some of those more niche audiences that their support is far outweighed by the majority opinion of society. Yes, there are rumblings in the underground, in the more secluded circles that are advocating and refusing to stay down. There those couples back in Japan that are suing the government for their rights but Shiro kept himself from commenting on them because there’s still anxiety there about people finding out who he truly is.

In the quiet recesses of his mind, in parts hidden from the light, he can admit he has found exclusive attraction in men. He’s not ashamed of it, he doesn’t himself for it, but he still wants to please his parents; he still wants to give them grandchildren, and doesn’t want them to think that he won’t live up to their expectations because his interest in men will get in the way.

But Shiro is away from Japan, away from people who could see him, who could know him, and it’s possible that he could… explore a little. Maybe he’ll find down time and ask Tanizaki if they could take a trip to San Diego, to those liberal places he had read and heard about. Maybe he could visit the Japanese communities down there, he could meet with people, with _men_ , that are like him. Perhaps he could engage with them, he could possibly let himself feel the fantasies he’s always kept to himself.

Shiro keeps watching the channel, thinking about the possibilities.

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

Pidge’s voice echoes from the back of his mind, low and soft, as it settles along his shoulders and into his ear that has encouragement and temptation.

Keith is seated in front of his laptop, absently chewing on the end of his pen, looking at his opened email and the draft message he has pulled open.

It’s written in Japanese, what Keith could remember—

( _“I thought I told you none of that Jap in this house! I’m not raising some kid who won’t speak English!”_

_A flurry of movement, the tearing of paper and the slam of a book against the wall._

_“If you want to live in America, you speak English. Don’t let me catch you trying to bring anything that’s not American in this house again, Keith.”_ )

—and he reads over it, squinting, trying to make sure he reads it correctly.

_“Hi, I saw your flyer and I would like to help you.”_

It’s really simple, but Keith doesn’t want to get complicated and possibly say something that could mean something else. Keith isn’t a master at knowing the Japanese culture and therefore, he’s hesitant to fully converse with someone who grew up in Japanese society. He really doesn’t want to create bad impressions already.

He really can’t believe he’s going to offer help.

Damn Pidge for planting ideas in his head.

When no one is looking, Keith will let himself think about the possibilities, the satisfaction it could bring, the unanswered longings he’s dealt with by shoving them down so they can’t bother him.

Keith tries to not think about that.

The message is sent after a lot of deliberating on it.

It’s not even ten minute later when Keith gets a message back.

It is very… excited, Keith can see.

And it’s completely written in Japanese.

There are symbols used that he doesn’t quite know how to read or understand.

The message, from what Keith can read is:

_Thank you for responding! I’m really excited that_ —

Keith tries to read the next few symbols but he can’t quite make it out.

_I was very nervous about—_

Keith thinks it’s supposed to say _“knowing very little”_ for the next few symbols.

_—English I knew and how… with how little I know. You have no idea how much I’m relieved. I also am surprised you know Japanese and—_

There’s a symbol that Keith has never seen so he has to skip over it. Keith knows that not knowing symbols can change the structure around and mean something different. A symbol on its own can mean something, but adding another symbol or a tick mark onto a symbol can change the entire context, but at least Keith has the context that the message is thanking him in case being unable to translate a symbol takes the meaning drastically somewhere else.

_… but I am happy to help you learn if you need it._

There’s a vague twist in Keith’s stomach when he reads that, an emotion trying to clamor for attention.  

_Thank you so much for this, you have no idea how much this means to me. Please message me—_

Is that to supposed to be “free”? He can’t quite see but he’s going to assume that.

— _when you’re free and I’ll make time!_

Keith reads the signer’s name, _Shirogane Takashi._

Keith thinks about the Shiro Pidge keeps talking about but this person’s name is _Shirogane._ There isn’t any really correlation beyond having names that are a little similar, Keith wouldn’t assume a person named Bob was related to or the same as someone named Bobby, so Keith doesn’t think he should assume.

But he is relieved to know that this Takashi is also willing to teach him more about Japanese. The less mistakes he can make, the better.

Keith sends a simple, _Thanks. I would like that._

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

It’s the middle of Keith’s shift where he’s just leaning on the counter, about half an hour before his shift is over. It’s a Friday, Keith is finished with classes, he has a ton of homework that he has to get through, but it’s about to be the weekend and he has Saturday and Sunday to spread out that homework and study. Keith can taste freedom, though some of it vaguely tastes like a too sweet latte, but Keith can’t wait for it, it can’t come soon enough.

He thinks maybe he won’t have to deal with any more people and that the rest of this shift is going to end smoothly but he should know better than to hope for something when the bell above the door chimes. Keith hides his groan, straightening his back and tugging his shirt down look professional and presentable, standing straight and trying to get back into his most pleasant tone of voice.

(“Hey, Keith, maybe you shouldn’t try to smile like that, I’m just saying.”

“Thanks, Lance, duly noted,” is a monotone and deadpan reply.

“It’s already scary enough having to see you act human, but we need to be eased into seeing these things. I know I have a lot to work with as your designated wingman—”

“Even though I never asked—”

“But!” Lance goes on like he wasn’t interrupted, leaning forward to place his elbows on the counter of the table, “I know I can eventually make you presentable. I’ve never met a challenge that I couldn’t overcome.”

Keith gives him a deadpan stare.

“Let’s get you started on _Operation: Make Keith Presentable._ First of all, your choice of clothes are ugly. Like really? A cropped jacket? It’s ugly. There’s more to life than dark clothes and a terrible nineties fashion. Your hair? It’s a mullet, that is unacceptable.”

“Why are you ragging on my appearance so much? And my hair has never been a mullet. You’re the one with short bangs, short sides and slightly long in the back.”

“I’m going to pretend that I never heard you say those things and we’re moving on.”

It takes several months but Lance grows out his bangs because he was too haunted by those words but Lance will never admit that.)

Keith sees a woman approaching. Her presence is small, a thin, long-sleeved red shirt, adorned with light traces of gold stitching woven into it, placed over a plain white shirt. There are cream-colored pants that she wears with it, accompanied by a pair of simple, black shoes. The woman looks to be of an older age, and Keith would guess somewhere around her mid-thirties. She approaches and smiles at him before she begins to look at the menu behind him.

“Hi, welcome to the Cafe of Lions,” he begins in the mandatory greeting that he has recited so many times, “what can I get for you today?”

The door opens again, an internal groan reverberating through Keith’s skull and threatening to shakes his ribs with how it pushes up against the inside of his ribcage, but he keeps his mouth firmly shut to stop any possibility of it coming.

_“Keith, if you hate dealing with customers, then why did you get into a customer service job?”_ has been asked so many times but, you know, being a college student trying to remediate the amount of debt he’s accumulating doesn’t leave very many options.

Besides, the corporations that are on this campus are more than willing to create a compromise between the students and their schedules to allow them hours to work. Keith doubts that other jobs outside of the university are willing to understand some college student’s responsibilities because all they will see is “unable to work when I want them to”.

Keith is gearing up his greeting to the other person when his words slip back down his throat and his tongue suddenly forgets how to create words.

The man who stands before him is tall to the point where Keith has to crane his neck up to look at him. The man has large muscles, someone who obviously spends a good amount of time at the gym, who looks like he’s just finished from the gym if the grey, sleeveless Henley has anything to say about it, stretched and fitted around his chest and—okay, Keith can see those nipples imprinting under them, can possibly see the defined shape of his pecks, rounded and firm beneath the shirt. Keith sees veins down the man’s arms, pressing against the underside of his skin that has a subtle hint of a tan. Those hands are large, fingers long and thick, and Keith’s mind kind of drifts to think about the possibilities of those hands and those fingers along his thighs and—

Moving on.

He’s wearing sweatpants, simple and black that aren’t baggy per say, but are loose enough.. Keith doesn’t see the shoes he’s wearing, but his eyes are drawn back up, looking the man in his very gorgeous face, seeing messy bangs peeking out behind the end of a snapback, slightly sweaty but still messy. The man smiles, showing off a perfect row of porcelain teeth, not a single one out of place or crooked. Keith stares at full lips, watching them stretch across those teeth that is mesmerizing in so many ways.

The sight before him, this Adonis-like figure, is reminding Keith that it’s been far too long since he’s been with a anyone. The last relationship he had was a few months ago with a girl named Romelle, who was a really enthusiastic but sweet person. However, they both had too much work and conflicting schedules that they couldn’t maintain it, her being a communications major to his own avionics engineering major, and they agreed to end it on amicable terms. But with Romelle’s departure, he hasn’t really tried to look for anyone even though, contrary to popular belief by Lance, he’s had several people, binary to non-binary, try to ask him out. He’s not really interested even though he just kind of wants casual sex, but that urge isn’t strong enough for him to really act on it.

Back to the present with Keith currently trying to not let his mind wander.

Keith looks back to the couple and his stomach plummets to the bottom of his feet at a thought that crosses his mind: what if this man is in a relationship with this woman? Now, Keith has had his fair share of unfortunate crushes on straight men. Every time, it’s still pretty awful, but he still can’t help it when he sees a face like that in front him. How can he not react?

That hopeful part of his mind whispers against his ear about maybe he’s not straight but who knows, bu with thi man’s looks, one can’t help but wish they could have a person like that. It’s the lustful part of the mind wanting a chance regardless of the circumstances but Keith is pretty good at reining in his lizard brain..

“W-welcome to the Cafe of… Lions,” and god, Keith is getting flustered the longer this man looks at him, he thought he was above this kind of behavior, “w-what can I get for you today?”

He’s not a teenager with their first crush looking them in the eye. Keith is better than this, his days of stumbling over himself when meets a really attractive man (said man having hit every single point of preference he has when it comes to men, as tall, broad and muscled is enough to get Keith on knees). He thought he was over those days when he first started going out with a guy named Ryan Kinkade, all of his blushing and stuttering should have faded out after that.

Apparently not.

The woman smiles and order two drinks and Keith has a feeling he’s one of those guys who swear up and down that they won’t drink “fancy” coffee since it somehow affects their perceptions of how their masculinity will be perceived and Keith is about to mourn such a pretty face having that attached to it until the woman speaks to get his attention.

“I’m sorry, he doesn’t really know about coffee, I’m ordering it for him.”

“Let me guess, he asked you about coffee and what to order?”

She hums in affirmation.

Keith can feel their stares on him as he goes through the motions preparing the coffee which is, thankfully, not a complicated order that needs to have at least five pumps of everything in it. It’s a simple latte, for both of them, and Keith is thankful that his shift will end on a simple note.

He hands them their coffee, the woman handing the tall man his drink. His eyes linger on the coffee, seeming to deliberate on it, and oh no, Keith is going to have to remake it, he knows those silences and looks before they think why this concoction is garbage and that it’s all Keith’s fault and demand another one.

Instead, Shiro takes a drink and hums but doesn’t say anything.

Relief is a weighty thing upon Keith’s back.

The woman looks over to him and nods, and says, _“I think this coffee is good. Would you like to come back?”_ and it surprises Keith because she spoke it in Japanese and the man nods, eyes lingering on it before he looks at her.

Ah, so it’s a pair that came together because they had come from the same culture.

Keith watches as the pair, unsure of what to say, but doesn’t say anything, not wanting to intrude.

The woman turns back to him, a smile on her face and, “this is good coffee, I’m glad we found this place.”

“There’s other coffee shops around campus, this is just one of them.”

“But each one has their own quality and charm, and this one has a nice feeling to it.”

Keith wants to hear the other man say something, he wants to get a name instead of referring to him by his muscles, but he doesn’t say anything, or does he indicate that he really knows what’s going on. He just seems fine to stand back and allow this woman to make the decisions.

But that isn’t any of Keith’s business and their relationship is not up for his curiosity and debate and Keith leaves it alone.

However, he can’t really get over how attractive this man is.

Both of them seem to decide that it’s time to leave and Keith can’t help but look at the man’s backside as he leaves, looking at the defined curve his back makes into his waist, tracing the broadness of his back that slopes into a trim waist.

Keith’s wouldn’t mind his legs hooking around that.

No, he can’t think like that, especially if he doesn’t know if this man is in a relationship or even interested in men. He’s _not_ going to get a crush on another heterosexual man.

“Holy shit, Keith actually feels emotions?”

Keith snaps from his current thought because he definitely didn’t say that, his head craning quickly to find who asked that question.

Keith deflates when he sees who the voice belongs to.

“Lance, my shift’s almost over, why are you here?”

More importantly, when did Lance even show up? His presence is usually too loud to miss.

“What, I can’t visit you at work?”

“Only when you want to annoy me and Hunk isn’t readily available.”

Lance waves a hand in a show of dismissal. “That’s totally not true and you know it, but I’ve been standing here for, like, ten minutes while you were drooling over Tall and Handsome.”

“And you like to exaggerate things.”

“You can’t hide from your feelings like you normally do, you can’t distract me from this.”

Keith turns around, grabbing a rag and preparing to clean the area so he can immediately leave when the next person is supposed to come in and relieve him. “Is there a point to this?”

“The point is that it proves you’re human. It’s a shocking change from ‘so quiet, he’s could be taken for being dead’ but at least now I can prove you’re human..”

“I mean,” Keith begins, dropping to his knees to grasp at one of the cleaners beneath the countertop, “everyone looks dead compared to how dramatic you are.”

Keith doesn’t need to look at Lance to know there’s a sour look on his face. There’s a pointed silence that stretches to a point where Keith thinks Lance has lost interest in annoying him and fulfilling his quota for bothering Keith for the day, Lance’s voice comes through with, “I’m just saying, it’s still weird knowing you can feel lust.”

“Is there a point to this?” Keith isn’t too thrilled to discuss his love life but Lance has always been a sucker for romance. He loves hearing about relationships, he likes knowing details, and also has a penchant for being a little dramatic about it. Sure, Lance can get really annoying with his brand of dramatic antics, but Keith isn’t genuinely annoyed by Lance. They’ve come a long way from their rocky and volatile start to a point where Keith is starting to feel comfortable with having a friend in Lance. Sure, he may spend a lot of time trying to decipher everything that is Keith, wanting to look beyond the calcified parts of his attitude to see the soft, vulnerable parts that Keith has kept to himself all this time.

“What I’m saying, is that knowing you feel lust—still weird, coming from you—tells me that you’re—”

“No.”

“You don’t even know what I’m gonna say.”

“Then, tell me you’re not going to try to wingman for me.”

There’s a brief silence.

“Yes.”

Keith looks over the machines, checks the quantity of liquid in the pumps, sees if any of the shakers need more cinnamon or sugar but he does turn back to Lance. “No offense, but you’re kind of terrible at it.”

“I am the guru of love, it’s not my fault you make it extremely difficult to set you up with anyone.”

“I’m not looking to be set up with anyone.”

“That look in your eyes earlier says different.”

Keith gives the other man a deadpan stare.

“Lance, no.”

“Lance, _yes_.”

Keith unties his apron and begins to fold it but not before he says, “I don’t care, it’s not happening. Besides, I’m fine enough as it is.”

“You never have fun; you never want to go out and just meet people.”

“I have my own brand of fun.”

“Name one activity that doesn’t include doing nothing on the weekends.”

“I let loose just fine.”

“Okay, then, name one party you’ve gone to?” is accusatory from Lance.

“It’s still a no, Lance.”

Lance makes a whining sound, clearly not willing to give this up, nor let Keith live in peace.

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

Shiro lies in his bed, limbs spread out but one hand lying on his stomach, fingers absently tapping against it. He stares at the ceiling, consumed by darkness, not really looking at anything in particular.

He thinks about the boy in that coffee shop.

He was cute.

Another reason he wants to learn English.

It’d be nice to ask him out, watch him turn red, watch him get flustered. He’s used to girls stumbling over themselves to get out their words of longing to him, and he recognizes that in that barista. He wonders if it’s because of his height, his muscles but whatever it is or why, Shiro wants to see his face again.

Perhaps this boy could be his first experience.

He doesn’t know the signs in men, if they’re different than what he’s seen in women. Shio also shouldn’t get his hopes up since he doesn’t know if this boy would ever consider dating men. . He doesn’t have any experience with men but he’d be willing to give that to this boy.

Shiro rolls over, shoving a hand underneath one of the pillows as he smiles widely, excited to begin his English lessons tomorrow so he can actually talk to that boy.

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

Keith sends a map to Shirogane, he had labelled his position and tried to translate the area names into Japanese for Shirogane to understand. Keith is sure that Shirogane may not be able to understand English, so he tries to help out by translating the names or as close as he can get them to.

He’ll admit, he was looking forward to the lessons. Keith wasn’t sure how well he can teach or if he’ll be able to be a good teacher, but he’s very interested in being able to further his own Japanese. It’s been so long since he’d been able to further his knowledge of Japanese as his college life has eaten up a lot of his time so that he’s not usually interested in doing other things. He doesn’t want to go to the frat parties that are always going on, he doesn’t want to spend his time in bar all the time—there’s no harm in wanting to sit back and let yourself relax on your own and Keith is no stranger to that.

As much as Lance claims that’s a boring way of life, it works for Keith and that’s all that matters.

Keith is standing by one of the fountains scattered about the campus, a reminder of how many donations the university gets to afford such luxuries. He hopes he was able to translate the name right for Shiro to know where to go.

Keith sits on the ledge of the fountain and pulls out his phone, checking to see if Shirogane had responded but also checking the time. He looks around but doesn’t see anyone coming toward him. He lets his phone rest on his thigh, fingers curled loosely around it as he looks out at one of the trails, watching as people pass by and hurry to their own classes. Violet-colored eyes go out of focus as Keith’s mind begins to blur and drift off.

He lets himself zone out for so long that he doesn’t hear the footsteps approaching.

_“Are you Keith?”_ is what knocks Keith out of zoning out, turning around to see—dark blue jeans at his eye level.

Keith leans back a little so he can look up and—oh.

_Oh._

It’s that guy from the coffee shop yesterday.

Heat immediately begins to sprawl along Keith’s cheeks.

It’s a moment before Keith responds, almost about to reply in English before he has to catch himself, remembering that Shirogane had spoken to him in Japanese. He takes a breath, trying to steady himself against the way his heart is trying to slam against the inside of his ribs, threatening to crack open and let everything he is make a mess all over his shoes to let Shirogane see and know everything he keeps inside.

_“Yes, I am Keith,”_ and Keith reaches out a hand in an effort to shake hands. Shirogane seems to understand this and reaches out with a hand of his own.

Keith is very taken by how his hand is dwarfed by the sheer size difference between them. Shirogane’s hand is large, his fingers long and thick, palm broad against Keith’s hand, and he encompasses almost all of Keith’s hand.

Above all, the taller man’s grip is gentle and warm.

And big, so much bigger than Keith’s hand.

Keith does all he can to resist temptation to keep his hand entangled with Shirogane’s, pulling back to stop himself from possibly doing something stupid.

_“My name is Shirogane Takashi, it’s nice to meet you.”_

 

 

Oh, gosh, his voice is pleasant now that Keith is paying attention. It’s a perfect blend of deep and gentle, the tones soft in inflection but holds a firmness that Keith doesn’t know how Shirogane is doing it but he could listen to it for the rest of the day, even the rest of the week.

Keith doesn’t know what to do with himself that doesn’t include studying Shirogane’s body. Honestly, Keith is not like this, he’s not so taken by physical looks to the point where he feels like he’s being incapacitated. Keith is great about keeping his attraction under control, he can go through the motions of the day and spend it with the person he’s attracted to with barely a hitch in his mental capacities.

He should have known that something out there was going to throw a curveball. This is completely different and out of left field that Keith doesn’t quite know how to process this.

_“Thank you, again, for answering my plea. I wasn’t sure if anyone would, so really, thank you so much,”_ Shirogane responds enthusiastically. _“I don’t know a lot about English. I tried to learn a little before I left Japan but it didn’t go so well.”_

Keith hums, more because he doesn’t quite trust his voice, balking at the mere notion that he’s going to possibly make a fool of himself. There’s a voice that vaguely resembles Lance’s that won’t stop pointing this out to him and making him think about his very visceral reaction to Shirogane’s looks.

Keith stares at Shirogane as he’s enthusiastically launching into an explanation of all his gratitude that much of it goes over his head. Keith is flattered but Shirogane’s words fluster him.

Being complimented so much with so much enthusiasm and genuine thought is enough to throw Keith. The smaller man finds it a little difficult to accept compliments as he doesn’t think that anything he does is really worthy of so much praise when he’s just doing what everyone else is. Just because he excels beyond what someone else is doing doesn’t mean he’s doing anything different than they are.

Instead, he just nods at the taller man who stops when he seems to realize that Keith isn’t responding anymore.

_“Oh, I forgot that you’re not completely fluent. Don’t worry, I’ll help you with whatever you’re having trouble with.”_

Keith tries to smile to reassure Shirogane.

Mostly it’s to reassure himself that he can get through being in the presence of this tall Adonis-like creature.

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

There’s a sandwich shop that they stop in.

Keith is seated in front of Shirogane and he has nowhere else to look but at him.

His knees cannot stay still with how nervous he is.

Shirogane is looking at the sandwich that he had gotten due to Keith’s recommendation as Keith nurses on his own sandwich, needing something to do with his hands and mouth so he doesn’t allow himself to say something he might regret.

He really can’t believe how attractive Shirogane is, like it’s a constant presence in his mind. It only serves to further remind him of how he’s internally crumbling over this and how it’s really messing with him. He has to wonder why he’s having such a reaction to him, why is he just unable to get over how nice the taller man looks. He’s been with some really attractive people, he’s had sex with people who were absolutely phenomenal and beautiful, but none of them were able to render him near incompetent based on their looks alone.

What makes this man in front of him any different from the other men he’s slept with? Than any other gender he’s even been with? It’s eating at Keith in a way that makes it impossible to ignore completely but the best he can do is try to force it to the back of his mind.

_“So, you saw my flyer. Pretty sure it wasn’t that good.”_

Keith tries to bite back the immediate reply but tries to soothe it over with, “ _I don’t think it was… that bad.”_

Shirogane gives him a look before he chuckles. _“It’s okay, even I know it was terrible.”_

Keith leans back, consciously trying to have some room between them to keep himself from acting out.

Why was his self-control so tenuous?

Instead, Shirogane seems to cross the distance and decrease their space, but he just leans forward to place his elbows on the table, arms lying on the table as he regards Keith. His attention is completely on Keith, unwavering and sort of intense in a way Keith doesn’t think he’s completely equipped to deal with. Those slate-colored eyes are open in their display of emotion, all centered on Keith who tries to not shift away. It feels like an actual weight upon his skin, a physical touch that ghosts the tips of its fingers along his arm and down his spine.

_“Please,”_ he begins, _“I’d love to know how you came to know Japanese. I didn’t know if I’d run into someone who could understand. I have Tanizaki, my translator, and she’s good. But I just,”_ and Shiro leans back until he’s no longer leaning on his elbows but they’re kept on the table, _“I want to be independent, you know? Rely on myself. She’s good, I appreciate her skills, but I just want to strike out on my own for a little while.”_

Keith deliberates on this, thinking about what he would say to this. He’s not comfortable with sharing his past with people, not even Pidge completely knows about the figures in his memory that still cast shadows into his present, and he hasn’t decided to let Hunk or Lance beyond the wall outside of his mind. He’s still too hesitant to let people completely in, and thanks to Pidge, he’s gotten better about letting people know how he feels instead of keeping it welled up in his throat and threatening to split his throat. He’d let his emotions leak back into his throat and into his lungs to let him slowly choke on the increase before Keith would dare to open his mouth and let his lungs drain.

But Keith doesn’t want to be rude to Shirogane, he doesn’t want to blow him off, but Keith is still too hesitant to share his past with people, even his own friends, as he’d absolutely hate to see their view of him change into that shame-induced pity they have when they match his actions and emotions to the pieces that they’ve been given. He doesn’t need someone to feel sorry for him, he doesn’t need someone to think they have to soothe over his scars and wounds; he needs people to treat him as a regular person, as someone with informed choices and his own autonomy.

But it’s that look in Shirogane’s eyes, that gentle look that isn’t asking for him to reveal all those vulnerabilities, he’s not asking for Keith to give himself over. It’s a look that gives someone the option of backing out, to choose to not let themselves answer. There’s no pressure, there’s no act of forcing his hand—Keith is given the option to give him something or deny it.

Hesitating, Keith decides he’s going to keep it broad and simple.

_“I am half-Japanese,”_ and there’s a bit of a surprised look in Shirogane’s eyes, the brief raise of his eyebrows, _“I had a…”_ and Keith struggles to figure out the wording for it but changes his phrase. _“A test was done and told me the results.”_

_“Like…”_ but Keith doesn’t know the words that Shirogane is saying.

Shirogane seems to recognize that Keith doesn’t understand that and the larger man leans back further and clasps his chin, tipping back to look at the ceiling to gesture that he’s trying to think of a different way to rephrase it.

Keith absolutely doesn’t look at the other man’s throat, watching the Adam’s apple that bobs with every word Shiro says..

_“Ah!”_ and he makes a fist with one hand and brings it down to the flat of his palm. _“Like finding out your history?”_

_“Yeah.”_

Shirogane makes an inquisitive noise before he allows himself to take a bite of the sandwich, but patiently waits for Keith to go on.

_“I was learning for a while until I was in a situation that it was no longer available.”_

That statement is a huge understatement. There’s a bitterness trying to rear up his throat, trying to settle on his tongue as a brief moment of events passed try to coalesce against the back of his eyelids. There is so much on the underside of the words and wedged in between the spaces of each consonant and vowel.

_“Well, you don’t have to worry about that,”_ Shirogane declares, surprising Keith that the other man didn’t venture further to ask about the why. People are always looking for more information, wanting to satisfy their curiosity more than worrying about Keith having to relive those memories and the actions that took place that still imprint against his skin. _“I’d be happy to help you learn.”_

There’s a warmth that sprawls in Keith’s stomach at those words, a kind of blossoming hope that Keith has always deemed dangerous in how easily it could be dismantled. Keith is a creature of habits, going about his day and going through the motions of preparing himself against anything and everything. Those habits are in place as a safety precaution, the failsafe to keep him alert. But it’s the look in Shirogane’s eyes, the confidence of those words, that wants to soothe over those habits and smooth those roughened edges.

However, Keith isn’t too taken by these words, knowing from somewhere back in his memory that all good things, things too good to be true, never have a permanent place in his orbit. Keith will humor them, genuinely let Shirogane indulge him, but he’s preparing for when Shirogane has to leave back to Japan and thus, any kind of lessons and knowledge into his heritage will be gone. Keith doesn’t know when the Shirogane is going to leave but Keith’s not about to let him get too close to the point where it’s going to hurt when their connection has to be severed.

_“All good things come to an end,”_ is a fact that can’t stop following Keith through the walk of his life.


	3. 3.

They part ways because this was only a small meeting in order to see each other and get to know each other.

Keith learns that Shirogane,  _ “please, call me Shiro,”  _ is a grad student, his major is aeronautical engineering with a minor in avionics. He’s twenty-four (wow, and here Keith is a whopping twenty-years-old, so he’s not much older than Keith) and entering a specialized program to further his major, and that it translates to a program of a similar nature at this university. Shiro has dreams of going to space, exploring the universe, and he wants to work with the aircraft and systems that he’d fly on to get there. He’s always had an interest in space, ever since he was a child and being obsessed with the moon landing and constantly watching it, trying to memorize it and act it out. It’s a cute image, Keith has to admit.

In return, Keith tells Shiro that he’s in his second year of college, he’s going into aerospace engineering field and trying to get all of the classes he needs for it out of the way. He wants to get everything out of the way so that his senior year of college will be smooth and not trying to cram everything. Keith has a dorm on campus, but he stays at his best friend’s place a lot since it’s huge and close to campus. Shiro also remarks that he’s close to campus as well.

Shiro remarks that he loves cats and had a few through his life, but his last cat was named Black ( _ “I know it’s completely unoriginal but it just suited her, you know?” _ ), a Maine Coon that had passed away last year. Shiro says it’s fine, he did his grieving but wants to spend more time on remembering the better times he had with her.

They spend more time talking about things they’re interested in, their dreams, their hopes, and it turns out, Shiro is just so easy to talk to. There’s no pressure for the interracial man to impress Shiro, there’s no posturing or flexing from Shiro that he normally gets from men of Shiro’s size, always trying to put their masculinity on display and prove that they’re better than everyone else that Keith has dated. It’s a nice change and one that Keith welcomes.

He’s glad that even though Shiro has a penchant to dress like a typical fratboy, he’s not actually a fratboy or has anything to do with that kind of culture.

Last thing he wants is to have Shiro constantly goading him into beer pong or some kegstand competition that a lot of the fraternities and sororities deny they do.

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

Shiro finds himself in the kitchen of Holt’s house, staring down at the bowl of udon he bought at the store, curious to see how it could live up to the actual thing. Tanizaki had pointed to the label and said it was “best chef’s choice” that led Shiro to buying it. He very nearly gave the cashier some of his yen coins, about to give her six hundred before realizing that yes, he needs to use dollars.

As Shiro tries to open the packaging, his mind wanders back to today, in the early afternoon when he had seen Keith, that cute boy he’d seen at that coffee shop earlier who hadn’t left his mind, sitting on the edge of that fountain, waiting for him. He’d done a lot to translate the campus’ map for him, one thing Shiro was grateful for. Sure, there was some odd wording here and there, but it was manageable that Shiro appreciated it.

Shiro had stopped and took a moment to actually look at Keith, the one he’s going to be spending an unnamed amount of time with.

For a lack of better word, Keith was pretty.

Lengthy black hair, messy and thick and curling at the ends, with a light wave it, brushing down his back and ending along his shoulder blades. He’s of a slight frame with pale skin, much smaller than Shiro ever was for the age he must be. His face is angular, high cheekbones, full lips and an eye color he can’t quite tell. But Keith is impressively beautiful, a study that he can’t deny.

Shiro thought of further delaying his entrance just to look at Keith further.

As Shiro gets the bowl open, he looks at the package of air-sealed udon noodles and looking back at the packets of seasoning and… toppings? He thinks? He can’t quite read the label. He supposes he’s only just supposed to put hot water in this but he can’t read the small text on the bowl.

Anyways, Keith was cute, obviously flustered and nervous and not wanting to offend Shiro in any way and Shiro appreciates that. Keith was obviously trying to make sure he didn’t step out of line, doing what he could to accommodate Shiro. He’s genuinely impressed by Keith’s level of speaking Japanese and he wants to be able to help Keith further his knowledge on it in return. He’s extremely grateful for the smaller man’s help, he really is, and Shiro will forever be in his debt. He wants to give back to Keith, to repay him for reintroducing Shiro’s freedom and independence, just enough for him to be able to get around.

It’s an exaggeration, he knows, but Shiro wants Keith to know just how much this going to help him.

A few times, Shiro had to catch himself from calling Keith cute, not sure if the man would appreciate that. He doesn’t want to assume Keith would be interested in men but after being surrounded by a society that values their heterosexual gender roles, and even though Shiro loves his country, he’s been conditioned to assume a society of heterosexual people unless otherwise specified. He knows it’s universal, it’s not just Japan, and even though he’s seen America has some kind of acceptance, more than he thought (Shiro doesn’t have much to go off, he never really considered looking into this), he’s still not confident enough to ask someone.

Shiro’s never asked out a person; he’s been asked out by dozens of hopeful girls, hanging around his locker, leaving notes behind, waiting for the end of class. Shiro doesn’t have much experience as far as relationships with male-identifying people, and he is a little nervous about it, but he wants to try it while he’s in America and has the chance. It’ll be short-lived, it’ll be brief, but Shiro would kick himself for the rest of his life if he didn’t let himself explore. He’s away from his culture, from Japan, that he’s sure the repercussions wouldn’t follow. His choices will be confined to America, his exploration of his own sexuality without fear of losing his footing in society and ostracized.

(If he were to really think about it, he may go to Ni-chōme with the confidence he would build in America. He’d keep it quiet from his parents, from his friends, and indulge in what he desires. Shiro is too afraid of being seen, being caught, and losing everything, but he wants to get over that fear.

He remembers a documentary that had been filmed that included Ni-chōme in it, about the lifestyle of it. He remembers a man in a dark background and shadowed and a voice warped and deepened, _ “I will marry a woman to please my parents,” _ and a talk about a sacrifice of one’s personal happiness and freedom to conform to the standards that has been set by a heterosexual society.

Shiro doesn’t want to do that, he doesn’t want to sacrifice who he is in order to fit neatly on the shelf of society, but it’s that sense of duty and dignity that is ingrained in Shiro that compels him to take on whatever task has been given to him. His parents’ desire for grandchildren is looming larger by the day, with more time in the day thinking about grandchildren increasing. He wants to please his parents but he’s not sure how far he will go in order to please them, even cutting off and denying a part of who he is.)

Shiro thinks about Keith being interracial as he pours hot water into the bow, wondering who his parent was that was Japanese. He wonders about the cultures and heritages that Keith inherited, wondering who the other culture was that had created him. He wonders inf Keith celebrates all their holidays, if Keith prefers certain traditions over the others. It creates a plethora of questions within Shiro’s mind that he’s a little eager to know more about.

He can’t wait to talk to Keith again when their first lessons start.

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

“I can’t wait ‘till you see Shiro, he’s really gonna defy what you think he’d look like.”

Pidge pauses and corrects herself. “Shit—I didn’t mean it like that, like there’s a specific way Asians look-—I—” and Pidge quiets down, making a frustrated noise before she settles. She sighs, looking back at Keith, “I’m trying, okay? I didn’t mean it like that and I still catch myself falling back into that.”

“How about them Hollywood movies, huh?” Keith says, a slight smirk curling at the edges of his mouth, his eyes going lidded as he regards Keith, arm crossing against his chest.

A sour look passes over Pidge’s face. “Yeah, yeah, they’re great.”

Pidge ushers Keith into her house and Keith looks around, looking for some sign out of place that would hint at this Shiro living in her house. It doesn’t matter how many times Keith comes to Pidge’s to hang out, he’s still taken by how large their home is and how much space there is for just four people. He guesses it pays to work at the university and leading many of the programs and projects, as well as being one of the most trusted professors at the university.

Pidge’s family has such a heavy hand in sciences and technology, with her mother, Colleen, teaching biomedical sciences and her father, Sam, teaching mechanical engineering. Matt himself is trying to explore a robotics degree with a focus in artificial intelligence, as Pidge is thinking about some kind of computer programing or biochemistry degree, and Keith has no doubt that they’re going to excel at those kinds of jobs.

Pidge already likes to change certain frequencies in her high school that are essential to broadcasting the school’s channels or disrupting certain electrical frequencies and changing the school’s electronic infrastructure. She doesn’t do it often but she is more than capable of hiding her electronic signature and deleting any kind of trace she’s made in the system. It’s always a riot every time she does, just once every couple of months.

Keith toes off his shoes, seeing a pair of shoes that he doesn’t think belongs to any of them. For one, they’re fucking huge, much bigger than Keith’s.

Keith steps away and lets Pidge guide him through her house. He’s been in her house dozens of times but he still lets her maintain a semblance of control. It’s her house so she’s the one who gets to make the rules.

Up the stairs and down the hall are Keith and Pidge, heading toward Pidge’s room as she talks about new video games she has purchased and the games Lance refuses to play with her after she continued to destroy his character that, obviously, led to claims of her cheating and modding the game in her favor.

( _ “I know you know enough about computers to do that.” _

_ “You’re just a sore loser, Lance, give it up.” _ )

They pass by what Keith assumes is Shiro’s room, seeing the sign on the door, a simple sign with white letters on a black background. Keith lingers at the door, thinking of knocking before he decides to go on.

It’s when they reach Pidge’s room at the end of the hall does the door to Shiro’s room opens. Pidge turns around, looking for Shiro to come out of the room before she says good morning in Japanese. There’s a chuckle in Keith’s throat as he gently corrects her that it isn’t morning but a good try. Keith is about to tell her what she should say when the words on his tongue suddenly slide back into his throat and in his lungs so quickly that Keith chokes, coughing, earning a concerned look from Pidge.

Shiro is standing directly down the hall.

Shiro.

He’s here.

He’s Matt’s foreign exchange student house.

“Hi, Shiro!” is oblivious from Pidge, unaware of the interracial man’s sudden dilemma.

If Keith were carrying anything, he’d have dropped it all over the clean rug.

Keith can feel his stomach sink even further in his body, trying to slide down the inside of one of his legs as Shiro’s eyes lock with his.

Shiro seems to have been about to say something but his mouth closes as he looks at Keith but then looking at Pidge. There’s something that passes through Shiro’s face, his brows coming together, mouth working around some kind of sound that wants to be free but is unwilling to let it be known. His head tilts somewhat to the side, eyes narrowing a little before,  _ “hello, Keith. You live here? _ ”

Keith stumbles over himself in order to answer, berating himself for being a little too eager to respond without thinking about what he’s going to say. Keith doesn’t acknowledge how he’s so eager to soften whatever mood has come over Shiro’s person. There’s a kind of subdued tone in Shiro’s voice, like a forced calm that doesn’t sit right with Keith. It’s much different than the tone Shiro had a few days ago, jubilant and excited, attentive and caring, and this tone of voice doesn’t quite mesh well in his stomach.

Keith’s also not going to examine why he feels so willing to try to make whatever mood Shiro has fallen in go away.

_ “Oh, uh, no, I’m just visiting… with Pidge.” _

Gunmetal eyes flit over to Pidge.

_ “Is she a friend? I didn’t know you knew Pidge.” _

“Is he saying good things about me?” Pidge tries to stage whisper. “I heard my name in there.”

_ “Y-yeah, she’s a friend. Like the little sister I never had.” _ Keith wants to mentally kick himself for sounding a little shaky.

God, he could just stare at Shiro all day and wonder what t would be like to lay his head on Shiro’s pecs.

It would be so firm and supporting.

It’s that phrase that seems to loosen the taller man’s limbs into a kind of sprawl that puts something at ease in Keith, though he doesn’t exactly know what that was supposed to be. Shiro seems to smile, little shaky, but it’s there and spreading across the black-haired man’s face.

_ “I had heard your voice and was curious. I didn’t know you knew Holt and his family.”  _ A sheepish quality enters the other man’s voice and Keith assumes it’s just Shiro feeling embarrassed for not mentioning Pidge and living at her house.

_ “No, it’s fine.” _

“Keith,” is almost a whine, vowels stretched out to get Keith’s attention as pokes at his waist. “Please, tell me that everything about me and Matt is positive.”

“Yeah, it’s fine,” is almost offhand but is enough to placate Pidge. “Damn right, I’m good,” she says in response.

_ “She’s my best friend. I have known her for a long time.” _

Shiro’s entire demeanor seems to be placated and soothed from whatever thoughts he had earlier that leaves Keith with a dozen questions for the why. What did Shiro find that made his seem tense? It would be awkward at the very least and Keith would like to avoid any and all kinds of awkward that he’s not ready to face by himself.

Shiro seems to take this as the end of the conversation, raising his hand and creating a two-finger salute to him.  _ “It was nice seeing you. Maybe we’ll see more of each other,”  _ and a grin splits the older man’s face,  _ “and we should hang out sometime.” _

Shiro does his salute and turns to go back into his room in which Keith’s eyes are immediately dragged down Shiro’s back and toward his ass.

He feels like a dog in that moment.

Is this how skeevy men like to operate? Keith feels slimy for even thinking like this.

“Well, well, isn’t  _ that _ something?”

Ah, yes, Pidge is present.

Keith doesn’t want to turn around but not doing so would be like an admission of his guilt and he’s far better than that. He turns to look down at Pidge who sports her own sly look, eyebrows raised as she stares back up at him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You sure don’t, Mr. Ass Man.”

Keith puts up what he thinks is a good front of looking vaguely offended. It’s hard to read Keith’s emotions by any other person. Keith doesn’t think he’s a physical person, he doesn’t wear his heart on his sleeve, but apparently, Pidge seems to see through this.

“I saw you stutter—and look! Your face! It’s all red! Explain that to me,  _ Keith _ ?”

“I don’t have to listen to this,” is somewhat petulant as Keith tries to walk past Pidge and toward her room.

“Don’t think I’m gonna forget about this. I don’t need to understand Japanese to see you were a complete  _ disaster  _ talking to him.”

“I can leave.”

“You can’t walk away from this, Keith.”

 

 

\--

 

 

 

It’s not illogical to assume that Keith would be heterosexual, Shiro thinks, when the society that surrounds you presumes heterosexuality as the default setting. Shiro finds himself too nervous and hesitant to ask Keith about his orientation, pretty sure that one just don’t go up to a person they have no idea who they are and just ask if they aren’t heterosexual. Shiro hasn’t been around those types of communities or have any experience, but he’s still sure that would be considered rude.

Again, emphasis on the no experience.

So, was it any surprise that he had seen Keith with Pidge and assumed?

Shiro had no idea that Keith had known Pidge. The tall man had assumed meeting Keith in the coffee shop was going to be an isolated incident. Then, finding out that Keith was going to be his English tutor was some weird twist of life, and maybe for a moment, gave Shiro an odd sense of hopefulness. What for, he’s not sure, but there’s this sensation there that wouldn’t go away.

And now, finding out that his host family is best friends with Keith?

There has to be something at work.

However, all of that was dashed and shredded into minute pieces the moment he saw Pidge with Keith, going to her room for what he would assume was some eventual romantic activity.

He’s not innocent or gullible to think that men and women together won’t eventually equal some kind of romantic tension. He’s seen enough of pop culture, media, and every other outlet constantly reiterate that there would eventually be romance. He’s seen the barest activity or contact between a man and a woman be treated as the epitome of romance, the beginnings of a relationship. Was it illogical to come to that kind of conclusion? Was it disappointing to know that his first languidly-developing crush on a boy turned out to be attracted to a boy that’s heterosexual? Certainly, that would be crushing.

He couldn’t help it, there was judgement placed upon Pidge, an action he feels immensely guilty for but he couldn’t stop himself at the time. His muscles were tense with the disappointment that had begun coursing through his body, scraping along the inside of his veins, scratching at the underside of his skin that made him itchy, like raw cotton digging into his skin. He could feel that disappointment coiling through his body, trying to calcify his muscles, and doing everything it could to remind him to be careful about who he got attached to.

Simply, a crush is a crush because in the end, they hurt.

Instead of gearing himself up for watching Pidge and Keith engage in being in a relationship, to get to know the longing in his stomach that makes him feel empty no matter how much food he’d consume, Keith stumbled over his words to in an effort to assure Shiro that he and Pidge are friends.

Sure, there’s suspicion because no way would life decide to take pity on him, no way that life would continue to let him have some good thing without trying to intervene and create strings attached to it. Something this good can’t just keep going on interrupted.

Sure enough, Pidge is the little sister Keith never had.

That does make him pause and think about the idea of Keith not having siblings. Does he not have any sisters? Is he an only child? He files that away for later perusing.

A statement like that has never had so much relief than anything else he’d ever experienced up to that point.

Still, it’s odd to think Keith would get flustered about that. Maybe he and Pidge get mistaken for a couple a lot? That can’t be, Pidge looks a little too young. Either way, Shiro is immensely grateful for it.

Is it odd to be like this? A little possessive over someone you’re not sure is interested in you, let alone the same gender? It only serves to let Shiro know that he’s really letting himself loose with his own repressed desires.

It makes him think about when he goes back to Japan, this opportunity will be gone.

He’s going to get all of it out before he no longer can.

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

“You can always ask if Shiro is interested in men.”

“I said, we aren’t talking about this.”

“I mean, it wouldn’t hurt to find out.”

“You sound like Lance and his awful wingman attempts.”

“I’m not going to acknowledge that, but I mean, seriously, just ask him.”

“I don’t think he’d appreciate that.”

“Ah-ha! You are interested!”

“I’m not going to answer that.”

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

It’s with the start of Monday that begins the English lessons that Shiro isn’t completely focused on.

It’s been merely a few days and Shiro is still thinking about Keith and Pidge’s interaction.

It had been a nervous but pleasant feeling being in the same house as Keith, knowing his presence isn’t that far away, and that he was easily accessible whenever Shiro would want to approach Keith. He’d kept seeing Pidge looking Keith, watching her grin, whisper things to him, and all kinds of odd physical things. Keith seemed to be flustered by them, he could see there was annoyance, and other things that Shiro doesn’t have much context for since he’s missing the understanding of English.

That’s another thing that Shiro wants to be able to understand and not be left out of important conversations because he can’t understand some simple English words.

Still, what an odd behavior that was.

It still makes the dark-haired man think about Keith stating he and Pidge are just friends and though that may have cleared out the option of Keith being in a relationship, it still leaves the belief that Keith is only strictly interested in women. It’s an easy question to solve but Shiro isn’t going to ask and have a chance to potentially ruin his relationship with Keith or change the smaller man’s perception of him. He’d really hate his first experience with having feelings for another man end in revulsion.

It’s a simple fix, it’s a solution that can easily be carried out but Shiro doesn’t want the fallout behind it to happen.

His knee bounces, almost hitting the top of the table, as he waits for Keith to arrive at their destination, constantly checking his phone, looking around, and generally shifting his body as he thinks of all the ways things could go wrong. What if this is harder than he realizes? What if Keith becomes frustrated with his inability to learn English? What if Keith decides this isn’t worth it?

Shiro drinks quickly at his coffee, almost aggressive as his hand tightens on the cup, almost to a point of crushing it before he remembers that yes, it would be a hassle to clean up before he sets it down. There’s too many what-ifs parachuting around the inside of his skull, bouncing around and off his brain and slamming against the inside of his skull but on the outside, Shiro maintains that perfect image of calm. It’s just his knees bobbing that gives away his actual nervousness.

He leans back in his chair, a little slumped, and begins tapping his foot, trying to think about anything else other than all the ways that everything could hypothetically go wrong. He’s thinking too hard about this, he’s not giving himself enough credit, but he can’t help but consider how this will turn out considering everything that could happen. This isn’t like Shiro, he’s normally considering all the great things that come out of a person’s actions, all the good they can do, not being negative and setting himself up for self-sabotage and failure.

_ “It’s just nerves, Shiro,” _ he tries to console himself,  _ “Keith is very understanding of your position, it’s not a big deal,” _ and all other words of consoling himself are sort of falling flat and shattering on impacting around in a spectacular display of dust, but it can’t distract him enough.

_ “You can do this, Shiro,”  _ and he straights up before hunching over again, pulling both of his arms back, bending at the elbow as he tucks them to his side, fists clenching in a show of hyping himself up, “ _ you can definitely do this, Shiro. It’s not gonna be that bad. In fact, it won’t be bad at all.” _

Does he feel marginally better? Maybe, he doesn’t quite know, but he’s gonna fake it until he actually feels it.

But it’s with the appearance of Keith, coming through the door of his room (they had decided to agree to teaching Shiro in at Holt’s house since it would be more comfortable for both of them and the distractions could be cut out) does everything crumble around him.

_ ‘Okay, I don’t have this,’  _ crushes everything else in the older man’s mind, stomping out whatever flickers of self-encouragement that might have sparked in a brutal display.

Before anything else could sawn within his mind to feed the self-doubt that rises, Shiro is momentarily taken by how good Keith looks.

He notices Keith’s hair is up in a messy bun, hazardous and possibly slowly falling apart, but it lets Shiro see Keith’s neck on display, the pale skin unblemished and just calls out to Shiro to do something, daring him to take a chance. He should do it, some lizard brain part of his mind tells him, just forget about everything and let yourself discover just how much you like men.

He looks at the simple dark grey shirt Keith wears that clings to his torso, displaying how lithe Keith is, giving Shiro half a mind to place his hands on Keith’s hips just to see the sheer difference in size between them. The older man is sure that he could wrap both hands around Keith’s waist and touch his fingers together with enough length to spare. He’s thinking about it so much that his fingers are twitching, his palm makes small but slow movements across the desk before Shiro has to consciously keep them still. The last thing he needs is to reach out and actually ensnare Keith’s waist. He’ll have a wonderful time trying to explain that.

His eyes trail down to the black pants that Keith wears, fitted around his legs, and Shiro has a moment of clarity so sharp that it nearly sends him reeling. It creates images within his mind that Shiro needs to stop now before they manifest physically through his pants.

Keith walks to the desk, grabbing a chair before he pulls it up. Shiro scoots his own chair over, mostly to have some kind of distance between him and the temptation that curls at the ends of his fingers. Keith put down the bag he had brought that Shiro barely acknowledged and opens it to pull out a notebook, two pencils, and some book that Shiro assumes is a manual on how to learn English.

Keith turns to him, takes a breath before,  _ “I brought this book because it’s a guide on English grammar. It can be… difficult to understand, and I sometimes have trouble with it. It’s just to help me to be able to translate it better.” _

Keith points at the book, _ “I had read that English is difficult for many people who don’t know it, so I want be able to make it easier.” _

_ That is fair,”  _ Shiro gives in kind.  _ “My translator, Tanizaki, said that if we need help, she is available.” _

Keith makes a noise of acknowledgement.  _ “That’s good, that makes this even easier.” _

Keith opens the notebook to a blank page, taking out a pencil and beginning to write. Shiro can’t really read what it says, but he recognizes a few words. At the bottom of it, he writes,  _ “hi, my name is Keith.”  _ in Japanese. He underlines the English words that translate into the Japanese letters. It leads Shiro to think about how many of the character sets of Japanese does Keith know. Does he only know how to write in Katakana? Does he only know how to write in Kanji? What about Hiragana? Hiragana may be easier for people since it’s more phonetic, Katakana representing more of foreign words to help translate it into Japanese terms, and it seems Keith is a little more comfortable in writing in that set. Kanji can be a little more daunting, but it really just depends on how comfortable the person is.

Keith shows him the phrase and starts writing other sentences. He gives it to Shiro and asks him to find the first sentence he wrote in English. It takes some time, but Shiro locates it.

It goes on like this for an hour and it gives Shiro something to focus on other than thinking about how close the smaller man is to him, to reach out and let the bun that is slowly falling apart come loose and let his fingers touch along the onyx strands. Shiro’s own mounting frustration over their English language thankfully keeps them at an ignorable whisper, making things manageable at being in such a close proximity.

In return, when Keith struggles with finding a way to translate the English into Japanese because he doesn’t quite know the symbol for it, Shiro starts to list off words or have Keith talk to him in different contexts to understand what he’s trying to say. It helps Keith learn the words he’s lacking knowledge on and in return, a warmth spreads through Shiro’s chest, right behind his ribs.

When it looks like it’s nearing the end of their session, this leaves an opening for a conversation for Shiro to find out more about Keith, his curiosity about the younger man pulling at his mind in places that are demanding more attention to fulfill that curiosity. The taller man is thinking of all the ways he could approach this without Keith shutting down on him or stepping out of line. He recognizes the more closed off aspects of Keith, the low willingness Keith has to share his past beyond vague or generic details.

_ “You told me you were half-Japanese,” _ Shiro begins, trying to keep his voice steady and welcoming, watching for any sign of Keith becoming uncomfortable,  _ “I’m curious to know which of your parents were.” _

He can tell the long-haired man is considering this, tasting the words he wants to test out

_ “It was my mom.” _

There was something about the way it was said that tells Shiro he shouldn’t tread on that subject.

_ “It must have been quite the childhood to have so many cultures to celebrate.” _

_ “Yeah,”  _ but it looks like Keith is reluctant to talk about this, so Shiro decides he’s going to change the subject.

_ “Is there anything about Japan that you have a question about? There’s some things that I’m sure you’re not aware of or know about, and I would be happy to tell you about them.” _

There’s relief on Keith’s face that he tries to keep tamped down that gives the impression that Keith may not have had a good childhood. It’s a subject that Shiro doesn’t want to venture in because his reaction will be strong to the treatment that Keith may have faced, wanting nothing than to light those dark areas and chase away all the things that preside within those dark areas.

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

_ It’s okay, I don’t know too much about English, I understand if you have some trouble trying to translate it for me.” _

Keith is thankful for that, he really is, and Shiro’s endless patience and willingness to work with Keith are very appreciated, but Shiro doesn’t have a clue about the other reasons why Keith is nervous and a stutter-y around him.

_ ‘It’s because you’re really fucking hot,’  _ Keith thinks, the voice in his mind sounding somewhat whiny.

_ “I just want to make sure I do this right for you,” _ Keith says instead.

That smile, that fucking smile Shiro loves to make, that gentle and understanding smile, makes Keith think of leaning forward. It’s so nice and soft and Keith doesn’t know how to stop being endeared to Shiro. He’s a giant, he’s got such defined muscles, but he is literally the image of a gentle giant, like he could look up the term in Urban Dictionary or any other word glossary and see the picture of Shiro’s smile pasted with the definition.

It makes is his skin itch with temptation.

They go about the lesson, Keith showing Shiro Japanese and English equivalents of the simple phrases that are used in everyday life, all the while paying almost too much attention to the size difference between their hands. Shiro’s hand practically swallows the pencil he’s using while Keith’s curls around it just nicely. He sees those thick fingers, the muscles jumping underneath the skin, the broadness of his palm when it nearly brushes against Keith’s as they both trade the notebook back and forth. The way Shiro’s hand curls around that pencil, the way his fingers flex, the way he cradles that pencil so gently--

Keith breathes out slowly, trying to cover up any kind of physical signs of thinking about Shiro’s hands when he’s supposed to be thinking about the English he’s trying to help Shiro with.

Shiro is just so friendly and happy to help that it makes Keith feel guilty about thinking of it applied to other certain types of situations. Ones that involve those hands on his waist and showing exactly how much smaller Keith than Shiro, what it would look like to have Keith’s legs thrown over those broad shoulders--

Keith almost chokes, barely keeping himself from showing it.

Instead, it’s a welcome when Shiro opens a line of conversation to talk about other things.

He’s less than thrilled about the prodding into his past, not wanting to think about those things, but more than okay with Shiro willing to talk about his country.

_ ‘This is your chance,’ _ is vaguely like Pidge’s voice echoing somewhere from the very back of his mind. The lilac-eyed many scowls at this.

_ “What is something you didn’t expect to see in Japan that you saw in America?” _

Sure, this is a safe topic, broad and very general that it can’t possibly lead to Keith’s own desire to know if Shiro could ever be interested in men. Life has told Keith that the things he desires don’t come without some kind of stipulation behind them (how he wishes they were behind him or over him, it doesn’t matter) to tell him to hold on.

_ “I am… surprised, by public transportation.” _

_ “Really? Out of everything else?” _

_ “Yes,” _ and Shiro raises a hand to grasp at his chin, tilting his head down as though he’s considering something,  _ “I was surprised by how… little people use it. Back in Japan, so many people rely on the trains. I’m so used to seeing so many people lined up in the train stations.” _

_ “Public transportation is… okay at its best.” _

_ “I really do not mean to offend but it’s so different to me.” _

Sometimes, you’re lucky if the city bus even manages to make it to your location.

They talk a little more, sharing little pieces of their experiences with transportation and other things that gets chuckles and some laughs from each other. Shiro has to stop many times to teach Keith the Japanese words he’s missing to fully understand but it goes smoothly and without much difficulty.

Keith suggests that he’s going to play something from Netflix and try out Japanese subtitles for Shiro. In return, Shiro tells Keith that he also has a Netflix account and that they could also try it with English subtitles. It’s a really good idea, Keith thinks, and opens the floor for more ways to learn their languages.

Oh, how something so simple could go so wrong.

It’s with Keith opening his own Netflix account, signing in, does the LGBT category pop up near the top of his list. He’d also been in the middle of a  _ RuPaul  _ rewatch--okay, Keith may appear to dislike all things fun, according to Lance, and hatred of fun, but Keith sometimes just wants to watch trash television. He has a few favorites, from Dancing Moms, Flavor of Love, and some others that have a flare for dramatics. It makes him feel better about his life and how not too much happens within it to the point that is shown in these shows.

Watching Gordon Ramsey yell at all these people, watching chefs think they can start preparing a five-star meal when there’s only twenty minutes left on the clock ( _ “No, Hanna, you can’t make that skillet chocolate lava cake in eleven minutes, what are you doing? This is why you’re gonna get voted off. _ ”), or whatever dramatic series he plans to watch, Keith won’t deny he has a little bit of a hobby watching these shows.

_ “Oh,” _ is all Shiro says.

That doesn’t sound good.

Not at all.

How does Keith go about this? Does he deny that he was watching this, that it was just someone else he was letting use his account? Does he play it off as just being curious about what this show was about? Does Keith pretend to be outraged that someone picked a show that he didn’t like? Does he say that he was letting a friend pick what they watched?

Keith has no real idea about the state of LGBT in Japan, but he does know it’s still universal to treat non-heterosexual people as something different and to be wiped out, but he also doesn’t want to assume that Shiro would be like that. He doesn’t know Shiro’s personal feelings, he doesn’t know if Shiro would be happy, neutral, or appalled at being in the presence of a gay man.

Keith himself, he’s pansexual, he has no problem with any gender. He does have a preference for large, muscled men, but he’s still open to anything. However, Shiro hasn’t expressed interest in anything, not even obviously beautiful women that have been in the presence, whether just in stores or on campus and not once has Shiro looked their way. Maybe Shiro is just really polite? Maybe he just has really good manners and doesn’t have the urge to openly stare at a woman? Whatever is it, Shiro has no signs of being anything, not that Keith could recognize.

(However, Keith knows no one has typical “signs” of being interested in a gender. It’s those Hollywood stereotypes that are talking that makes it look like there are certain behaviors that non-heterosexual men express.)

Keith chances a look at Shiro, unsure how to move on, but he sees a sort of contemplation on Shiro’s move, eyes moving across the screen and looking at it.

_ “I saw a show like this last week.” _

Oh.

Well, that’s…

_ “RuPaul’s Drag Race,” _ is sort of subdued from Keith.

_ “I wondered what it was called.” _

This is certainly an awkward moment.

Should Keith… press the subject, even just a little? Should he try to feel for Shiro at least not harboring hatred for who he is? Will this damage their relationship?

_ “It’s a show. Men who like to dress up,” _ and Keith keeps it as simple as possible, trying out the words in their most benign state.

_ “Ah.” _

So far, so good.

_ “It’s a competition they are in, to be the best.” _

_ “What kind?” _ It’s genuinely curious, so Keith assumes Shiro hasn’t passed judgement on it yet.

_ “Who can create the best outfits for challenges they are given.” _

Shiro’s head tilts, chin lifting, regarding the previews that keep playing the longer Keith’ selection box hovers over the show. There’s sweat that begins to collect between Keith’s shoulder blades, nervous as it is gearing up for negative judgement that can be passed. Readying for the disapproval Shiro could pass on it, and therefore, onto Keith himself.

His throat is a little too dry.

_ “And these men,” _ Shiro starts, his voice curious but neutral in expressing dislike for it, “ _ are shown with other men in flashbacks. Being intimate.” _

There it is.

Okay.

Keith is tense from how slow this is going, prolonging Shiro’s feelings from being revealed, from facing the judgement Shiro is going to inevitably pass on them, and consequently, Keith himself. His fingers are trembling on the remote, palms beginning to perspire, the sweat that curves along his spine down his back becoming more in abundance, as Keith can feel his heart slamming against the bars of his ribcage. All of his person is trying to steady itself from the ultimate rejection that Shiro is going to make.

_ “Yeah,” _ and Keith counts it as a win that his voice doesn’t shake,  _ “sometimes men like other men,” _ and Keith congratulates himself even more for not letting his voice sound shaky,  _ “it’s not really considered a big deal like it used to be. They are just regular people who like men.” _

This makes it easier to distance himself from being placed in the categories that Keith knows he belongs in. It’s easier to keep himself from being viewed with dislike or even hatred from Shiro. He knows that Pidge would have no problem expressing her dislike if Shiro turned out to hate a fundamental part of Keith that cannot be erased or have anything done about it to be rid of it. His attraction is part of who he is and there’s nothing that can be done to make it any less or gone.

_ “Really?” _ Shiro is still staring at the screen.

_ “Yes.” _

The sable-haired man is still quiet, still thinking about it, and Keith holds his breath as he waits for Shiro’s verdict. His fingers clench on the remote, waiting, watching, preparing for a fallout.

_ “I also like men.” _

Keith thinks he hears the equivalence of tires screeching and the shattering of glass and the smell of burnt rubber at the forefront of his mind.

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

If Shiro has read the situation right, then he shouldn’t have anything to fear.

But if not, then he’s in for a world of crushing rejection.

There is fear that is embedded within Shiro’s stomach, screaming at him to keep this part of himself away from the surface, away from curious ears, from prying fingers wanting to get into everything that he is. It’s trying to protect him, to stop all things awful from trying to destroy him.

His own heart is going to send him into an early death with how fast it’s beating that he may as well be suffering a heart attack.

It’s the first time he’s acknowledged out loud about his interests, about his desires, about the appeal of the male gender to him. It feels strange to him, like a weight that wants to slide off his chest but potentially has chains to still hook itself to him. It’s a physical admittance that can’t be taken any other way.

He just needs to know if Keith himself will accept it.

There is a quiet that settles over them, the only sound being the repeat of those previews on the television. Neither have tried to say anything, but Shiro eagerly waits in fear and hopefulness.

There’s a shit beside him and this is it, this is where Keith walks out, this is where he tells Shiro he’s wrong for his desires and that he should seek help. The amount of disappointment that climbs into his throat nearly chokes him with how intense it is.

But the sound of a door closing doesn’t happen, Keith’s voice isn’t trying to reprimand him or scold him.

_ “I like guys, too.” _

Shiro is unable to keep his head from turning to Keith.

For their first English lesson, things are sure not turning out to what Shiro thought would happen.

Instead, Keith is looking at him, those violet eyes regarding him with an openness that Shiro cannot figure out or place, but it has this feeling of positivity that encourages Shiro further.

There is also a supernova that fills his chest.

_ “I honestly was nervous about saying anything to you,”  _ Keith begins, and Shiro notes his hands gripping each other, his fingers acting restless, _ “I did not know if you would approve or not.” _

This creates a sense of ease in Shiro’s being, calming the cadence of his heart,  _ “I do like women, but I also like men. I am what you would say…”  _ and Keith is trying to figure out the term that would translate,  _ “... I actually don’t know of the term in Japanese, but I find attraction in all genders.” _

This admittance, the openness of Keith’s tone allows something to shift in Shiro, letting lose a flood of encouragement and relief so strong that it nearly sweeps Shiro away with how strong it is. It gives hope and encouragement to what Shiro had been thinking of for so long but unsure of acknowledging it to wanting to acknowledge it.

_ “I think all my life; I was never interested in girls. Many in my high school, and university, would try to confess to me. I had a lot of attention from girls but I just ever felt that way toward them.” _

Keith hasn’t looked away or has gained a confused look on his face, so Shiro is sure that he understands his words.

_ “I thought of having sex with a girl because I just wasn’t sure. I didn’t know if it was because I had never been involved with another girl, but every time I thought about, I just found myself turning away from it, from not wanting to think anything at all about it,” _ and Keith has to ask about a few words in there, not quite grasping them that Shiro is more than happy to accommodate.  _ “I just never could convince myself to like women.” _

Shiro takes a deep breath before,  _ “Japanese society is still rigid in this time, there isn’t much room to be different. Even though there are underground movements to make a difference. You must have heard about those couples suing the Japanese government for rights?” _

Keith nods in confirmation.

_ “Not everyone is accepting of it. There are still people who cling to the old ways because it’s all they want, they’re comfortable in knowing it is still in place, and they refuse to accept anything different. I think public opinion is shifting to be in favor, but it’s still not widely accepted. I was nervous, and I never planned to act on it because I wanted to please my parents. I never wanted to tell them about my feelings, and I don’t know if I am ready for that to ever happen.” _

There are words again that Keith gets a look at and Shiro tries to rerun them in meanings that Keith can understand.

_ “You are the first man that I told this about. You’re encouraging, you’re patient with me and all my English mistakes--” _

_ “I don’t expect you to know everything, Shiro.” _

Shiro holds his hand up.  _ “But still, I appreciate everything you are trying to help me with. This is just one of them. I also feel it is my duty to tell you about other things to help me, but I don’t want to let you bear all of my problems and shortcomings.” _

Shiro lets his hand drop.  _ “You are the first man to help me with this, and I thank you. You are the first man that I have allowed to know my feelings, and I feel like I would be too dishonest in not telling you this other thing I feel.” _

There’s confusion in Keith’s eye, his body orienting and ready to move into action. Shiro appreciates the attention, the willingness to understand.

_ “Shiro, you don’t have to tell me everything. You’re not--” _ and Keith has to think before he gives up with trying to find the words.  _ “You don’t have to tell me.” _

_ “But I do. It’s only fair, and it reminds me of the all the girls who confessed to me.” _

He’s really going to do this.

Shiro is going to get this off his chest.

_ “You have shown me acceptance in a way I didn’t know would happen. I agonized over this, but I’d like you to know that I do like, more than a friend.”’ _

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

Oh.

_ Oh. _

There’s that kind of silence that happens after a revelation that changes a show’s entire focus, it changes elements and dynamics that can’t go back to how they used to be.

There is Keith, confronted by a revelation that creates this sort of unfeeling sensation within him when such a detail has been placed in front of him. His mouth opens, closes, unable to decide what is supposed to be going on or how he is supposed to process how things are supposed to go. His mind is blank, not processing what is going on until that very last moment when everything suddenly collapses on his mind in a brilliant display of destruction and sounds that Keith is left winded by it.

He’s almost buried by that revelation.

_ “I understand if you don’t want that, but I just,” _ and Shiro brings a hand up behind his head, scratching at the undercut there in a display of a nervous gesture,  _ “I’m just really thankful for your help and everything you’ve done. You’re a good person, Keith, and I value that.” _

Keith is still at a loss.

Well, there’s Pidge standing off to the side of his ear with,  _ “I told you that you should’ve asked.” _

Is now an appropriate time to let all of this come out?

Well, he’s here, at this point, staring out at the edge of the cliff.

Keith takes a deep breath, steadying himself against everything that is trying to tell him that this is a bad idea, this isn’t really because good things just don’t happen to Keith. He should know better than to think he can have good things, to think he’ll find happiness. What does he know, he’s just some orphan tossed around the system, from foster home to foster home because parents had this idea in mind of what the perfect foster child was, a little malleable thing that could be molded into their hopes and desires, but Keith is not that kind of child.

Love is conditional for too many people, and Keith wasn’t privileged enough to know it unconditionally.

It’s that self-sabotage that Keith’s mind has perfected.

_ (“Why would anyone want someone who has dirtied blood? The kid of some race traitor? You should know better than to believe people want a mutt. Come on, Keith, you know this.”) _

_ “You don’t have to make me feel better about helping you. You need help and I did it of my own free will.” _

Shiro’s mouth opens but Keith stops him.

_ “I do appreciate you being able to help me, I do, but thinking you like me because I showed you kindness? You shouldn’t force yourself to get to that.” _

Keith looks away, unwilling to see the inevitable rejection, hoping Shiro will understand what he’s trying to get at.

There’s a squeak of the chair, a weight lifting off it, and Keith prepares for Shiro to leave but it never happens.

Instead, Shiro is in front of him before he drops to his knees.

Instead, Shiro’s hands come up and place themselves over (Keith’s much smaller hands, goddamn him for noticing that again since his lizard brain never stops) Keith’s hands, covering them with an undeniable warmth that Keith wants to sink into.

“Keith,” and that voice is demanding but gentle smooth that Keith can’t ignore it, looking at Shiro who is seated in front of him. He’s briefly struck by the fact that Shiro is kneeling in front of him and yet, Shiro is nearly eye level with him.

Damn, Keith didn’t consider himself small but Shiro is out here dwarfing everything he is with simple gestures.

_ “I think you need to know how good of a person you are. It’s not hard to see why people would develop feelings for you. You’re kind, smart, patient, ad even if you don’t really show it, it’s there. I haven’t known you for very long, but you’ve been willing to help me and give up your own time to help me.” _

Shiro’s hands tighten on Keith’s hands.

_ “I like you, Keith, and I don’t regret it. I just want you to know that you can do so much and that it’s easy to get attached to you.” _

Lilac stares into ash, looking for anything that can be construed as a lie, an exaggeration, or anything that could be taken as wrong.

The thing is, Keith can’t find anything.

 

 

 

\--

 

 

 

Shiro doesn’t know what’s happening until it does.

Keith’s face is suddenly in his space.

Keith’s lips are on his,

Shiro’s brows arch high on his face.

His hands slacken on Keith’s hands.

His spine solidifies so quickly.

Keith is kissing him.

Keith is actually kissing him.

It’s not some weird feverish dream that is plaguing him and replicating his desires only to take them away when he reaches the waking world.

Shiro doesn’t know it’s happening until it’s over when Keith’s face pulls back, looking anywhere where Shiro is, trying to hide the look he’s making as his words are low, very low with,  _ “I wish you hadn't said that because I like you, too.” _

Is Shiro living into a shoujo series?

Are there going to be flowers flowing and a bright background as Keith’s eyes become all dewy?

Shiro finds that he wouldn’t mind.

_ “You just—” _ and Keith huffs,  _ “you’re just too good for your own good.” _

Really, is this what comes with the English lessons?

_ “Oh, am I?” _ and it’s playful from Shiro, wanting to see the color on Keith’s face grow because it is absolutely adorable. The taller man also knows that Keith would probably hate that.

_ “How can you walk around like that? You’re so… ugh, you’re just so attractive and I hate that Pidge was right—” _

_ “And what did Pidge say?” _

Keith’s eyes narrow—oh, is that a pout on his face? Shiro is fascinated.

Keith huffs again, still not looking at Shiro. _ “Pidge said to just ask you about your feelings. She knew I liked you and insisted. It was really annoying, and I am not going to tell her she was right.” _

Shiro laughs at this before he leans up, catching Keith’s attention as he presses his forehead to Keith’s in a sort of nuzzling before,  _ “I’m glad, though, because I like this,”  _ and he can tell Keith is losing the fight in him as he accepts Shiro’s display of affection.

_ “You’re taking this very well.” _

_ “Am I not supposed to?”  _ and Shiro pulls back,  _ “I’m glad this happened because I would not have met you.” _

It seems to work really well to deepen the fading blush there.

_ “And you’ll be my first boyfriend since I’ve never had one. You’ll be my first in a lot of things and I can’t wait to experience them.” _

With this, Keith pulls back, his brows arching in a display of surprise.

_ “Wait,” _ and surprise colors his voice really well,  _ “you mean you’ve never--” _

_ “Nope. You’re my first.” _

Keith seems to not really be registering. It makes Shiro feel more endeared, if possible.

_ “That means you haven’t had se—” _

_ “That, too.” _

This all seems to throw Keith for a loop before he composes himself.  _ “Of course, you haven’t. A guy not interested in the people confessing to him and saying I am his first. Why I did not connect them, I don’t know.” _

_ “Well, if it matters, I look forward to not only the English lessons you’ll be giving me.” _

There’s a smile that’s developing along Keith’s mouth and Shiro wants to lean in and kiss at it. He likes these feelings being able to be loose and he doesn’t regret a single one of them.

_ “Who knew English lessons would lead to this? I’m sure Pidge will be happy to know this.” _

Shiro leans over to look at the desk, at the forgotten notebook and book that lay open on the desk and how innocuous they both appear. He looks at them for a long moment before he gets an idea that sprawls in his mind.

_ “You should show me how to write, ‘I like you,’ in English.” _


End file.
